


Chimaera

by ArianaFandoms



Series: Chimaera [1]
Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: As will graphic violence...maybe, But graphic (M) sex scenes will come soon, F/M, Lucas North - Freeform, Richard Armitage - Freeform, Slow Burn, We'll see how this story goes, Written with British spelling because the characters speak British English
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 56,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaFandoms/pseuds/ArianaFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an asset goes missing, Harry Pearce requests the help of a linguist, who may soon wish she'd stuck to mundane jobs, like translating books, as a horrific international plot is revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Asset

Another day. Another failed relationship. Lucas wondered why he even bothered anymore. Then again, when one's girlfriend was revealed to be plotting to take over the world, as it were, no one could blame him for feeling fatalistic about relationships.

Sarah, the blonde American agent. He hadn't loved her, but he'd nevertheless felt betrayed when he had learned she was a member of Nightingale.

Betrayal.

Now that was a word he knew all too well. Connie had betrayed his identity to the Russians, had been the direct cause of his eight-year-long _sojourn_ in Russian hell. The years of torture, followed by kindness. They were enough to give him emotional and psychological whiplash. And, if he allowed himself, he could still feel the bruises and broken bones and bloody gashes and electrocutions and suffocations.

But not the rapes. Never the rapes.

Harry had waited an awfully long time to arrange for his release. Lucas had blamed him, before he'd learned the truth. He blamed Harry even after he'd learned the truth. He should have helped him sooner. Lucas refused to believe that he couldn't have. The world had gone on, while he'd stagnated. He had missed eight years of _Coronation Street_ \--not that he'd watched it anyway. He had missed eight years of football and rugby matches, eight years of Wimbledon, though he hadn't cared for tennis. Eight years of decent tea and fish and chips.

And eight years of Elizabeta.

Elizabeta. God, how he'd missed her. He had clung on because of her, training his mind to think of her in the weeks and sometimes months of utter solitude. Those reminiscences were the reason he'd endured. Then to come back and discover that she had remarried and had a child...well, in that moment, Lucas almost wished he hadn't survived.

His whole life, gone. And all because of one betrayal that had spread like a virus to infect all other meaningful relationships.

The opening of the lift doors jolted him out of his thoughts. The room looked empty. No Malcolm, no Ben, no Jo, and no Ros. Ruth was gazing intently at her computer screen, no doubt researching the latest threat. What was it again? Oh yes, an asset gone missing. Tariq was digging up the asset's last known location based on CCTV footage. And Harry was in his office, as usual.

Lucas was beginning to think it would be a slow day, until a figure walked from the lift into the room. A small woman with strawberry-blonde hair, currently fixed into a bun. She glanced at him, her eyebrows furrowing, and he realised he had been staring. He looked down but felt a slight breeze as she passed.

Well, that was new.

Harry had apparently spotted the woman, too, for he came out of his office, right hand outstretched.

"Harry Pearce, head of Section D."

"Varinia Erdélyi, former freelance translator on loan from MI6," the woman replied, shaking Harry's hand.

"Yes, thank you for coming," said Harry, leading Varinia to Ruth's station. "I believe you speak Turkish, among other languages?"

Varinia nodded and took a seat beside the computer. "Six wouldn't tell me what was going on, though."

Lucas peered over his own computer, curious. Harry gestured for him to join them.

"Ms Erdélyi, this is Lucas North."

He clasped her hand and was surprised at her firm grip. "A pleasure, Ms Erdélyi."

"Please, just Varinia," she requested, smiling. "You're a Spook?"

"I am."

Harry cleared his throat, ending the introduction.

"We've an asset that's gone missing, exact date and location as yet unknown. Tariq, our resident computer whizz, is searching now."

"I've got him narrowed down to Charing Cross Road, but that was nearly two weeks ago," Tariq said.

"We've heard from him since then," Ruth remarked.

"When was he supposed to check in?" Varinia asked.

"Three days ago," supplied Lucas. "He's always been punctual."

Varinia looked up at him, smiling grimly. "Until now." She read the asset's file over Ruth's shoulder. "Altan Özil. He's Turkish."

"Yes," Harry affirmed. "I was hoping you could accompany Lucas to Altan's flat, in case something there can help us locate him."

Lucas had been leaning against the desk, but now he straightened.

"You're sending a translator to the home of someone who's likely been abducted?"

Varinia's eyes narrowed. "I have some self-defence training."

"Enough to take out a man bent on killing you?"

"Maybe," she hedged. "But if I can't, then that's why you're there."

Ruth glanced between the two, then at Harry, who stepped in before an argument began.

"Lucas, Varinia. Are you able to work together?"

She averted her gaze, feeling like a child being scolded. Lucas eyed her for a second and nodded.

"We are."

Varinia, too, nodded. "Yes."

"Good," said Harry, walking towards his office. "Tariq will give you Altan's address, and we'll be with you the entire time." He looked pointedly at Varinia. "Lucas is my most trusted agent. Listen to him."

She shared a glance with the dark-haired Spook, as they fitted themselves with the earpieces and mics. Lucas looked less than enthusiastic to be working with her, but she merely sighed and followed him down to the car park.


	2. Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia scope out the asset's flat.

The asset's flat was a mess. Bookshelves were stripped bare of their books, which laid scattered on the wood floor, their pages crumpled and torn. One of the sofas was missing its cushion, and someone had cut into it with a knife. The pages of the magazines on the coffee table had been ripped in the haste of finding whatever it was that Altan had discovered. Some of the dishes in the kitchen were broken, and the freezer door was open, releasing the cold air and letting in the warm. The bedroom looked no better, with books and clothes and shoes and electronics in a disarray, as though a tornado had come through and flung everything from its place. Even the labels on the shampoo and soap bottles had been removed.

Varinia stared at the scene in horror.

"Is it always like this?" she asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Usually, yeah," Lucas replied. He looked at the small woman with sympathy. "First time out in the field?"

She nodded. "I just translate whatever Six gives me." Varinia stepped over a collared shirt. "Was Altan taken from here?"

Lucas surveyed the flat, then shook his head. "I don't think so. It doesn't look like there was a struggle." Varinia mentioned the sliced up couch cushion, but he shook his head. "Whoever did that probably thought the asset had hidden something inside."

"And the clothes, too?"

"An incriminating piece of paper or a memory stick in his pocket," he answered. He watched, bemused, as she picked up a pair of trousers and dug through the pockets. " _If_ something was in there before, it definitely isn't now."

Varinia gave him a withering look. "Humour me." Lucas did and even picked up a pair of trousers of his own to search. But when she turned the garment inside out, he realised she may be on to something.

It was on his third trousers that he found the tiny piece of paper sewn into one of the legs. Written on it were two words: _Ardahan_ _Illet._

"What do you make of this?" he asked.

Varinia took the piece of paper, frowning. "Well, _illet_ is Turkish for illness, but I've never heard of the word _Ardahan_." Her earpiece crackled to life, and Tariq's voice filtered through to both her and Lucas. " _Ardahan is a small city in Turkey, near the Georgian border._ "

" _Did you find anything else?"_ Harry asked.

"No," Lucas replied. "But we'll get back to you. There's an entire wardrobe to search." He smirked at Varinia, who threw him a checkered shirt. "How did you know a message would be hidden in Altan's trousers?"

"I didn't," Varinia said, with a shrug, turning a pair of track pants inside out. "But I remembered that Hungarians fleeing the Communists sometimes sewed money or their papers into their clothes, so the soldiers couldn't steal them."

She noticed his brows rise and was secretly a little pleased that she had managed to impress him.

"You're Hungarian, then, I take it?"

"My last name's certainly not English," she quipped. "But yes, I'm Hungarian."

Lucas opened his mouth to reply but apparently thought better of it.

"Let me guess," Varinia laughed. "You were about to comment on my lack of an accent."

Lucas looked down, a small smile on his lips. "You hear that a lot, don't you."

"I do," she nodded.

"And I'm sure you're exasperated with reminding people you're a linguist."

Varinia grinned. "Right again."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"No biggie. I did, after all, bluntly ask you if you were a Spook."

Lucas' mouth twitched. "Then we're even."

"Now hold on," she protested. "You doubted my abilities out in the field."

"With good reason," Lucas agreed. "You just told me this is your first mission."

"Yeah, but that's two strikes for you and only one for me." Varinia arched a brow. "Which means we are decidedly _not_ even." Then her face brightened, as a thought occurred to her. " _And_ you found the clue because of me. That cancels out my previous strike, leaving me at zero, so I actually have two freebies."

"How old are you?" Lucas asked, his expression unreadable.

"Twenty-nine," she answered. "Why?"

"No reason." But the amused glint in his eyes suggested there was, in fact, a reason. He looked down at a yellowed t-shirt that might have once been white. "When was the last time you think Altan did his laundry?"

Varinia glimpsed the t-shirt, then looked at the jacket in her hands. "Oh dear."

She promptly dropped the jacket.

#

By the time they'd returned to the Grid, Tariq was already searching the internet and MI5's and MI6's files for mention of an illness in Ardahan. Varinia joined him, while Lucas went with Harry into his office.

"What do you make of her?" asked the head of Section D.

Lucas glanced at the linguist, who was staring intently at the computer screen over Tariq's shoulder. "She's sharp, despite appearances."

"Yes, Marcus over at Six highly recommended her," Harry agreed. "You have access to her file," he said. "In case you want to read it."

"You really think this Turkish asset stumbled across something big?" 

"He must have, for him to have disappeared," Harry replied. "Tariq started searching for information on Ardahan, but he's found nothing relevant yet. A lot of the stuff is in Turkish, though."

Lucas looked over at the redhead again. She sat at a computer of her own now and had presumably taken over the research, while Tariq and Ruth focused on locating Altan and learning who, if anyone, had abducted him.

"So she'll be with us for a while, then." Harry nodded. "And she'll be partnered with me, I take it?"

"You _are_ my most senior and trusted officer," Harry said wryly. Lucas, unaffected by the praise, lifted a skeptical brow. "She has basic training and is registered to carry a gun, but if this asset _has_ discovered something, we'll need her out in the field."

"So I'm to babysit her," Lucas drawled, not entirely pleased. "Well," he sighed. "At least if we have to do a stake out, there'll be more conversation with her than there was with Ros."

Harry gave the other man a half-smile. "That's the spirit."

 


	3. Mikhail Kolesnikov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another player enters the scene, while Lucas has a new opinion of Varinia.

Lucas sat at his desk, reading Varinia's file, while he waited for the forensics results from Altan's flat. It was enlightening, to say the least. Born in Budapest, she was fluent in six languages, including Turkish, and had worked just about every linguistic job imaginable, from book translator and tour guide to interpreter for various international companies and government events. Interestingly, though, she hadn't attended university, but as he delved deeper into her background, he understood why not. Varinia was a polyglot, able to learn languages more easily than the average person. That, coupled with her extensive travels, made a career as a linguist almost mandatory.

He looked over at the woman with a newfound respect. Varinia caught his gaze and smiled, before returning her attention to the computer screen. Lucas glanced at her file again, then closed it, despite his curiosity. He suddenly felt like he was invading her privacy by reading it.

Harry came out of his office and addressed the team.

"I just got the forensics results. They found hair at the asset's flat that doesn't belong to him," he said. "They matched the foreign DNA to a Russian man named Mikhail Kolesnikov."

Ruth typed the name into her computer and brought up his file. Harry, Lucas, and Tariq gathered around it, with Lucas motioning for Varinia to join them. He noticed she appeared somewhat uncomfortable, alternating between leaning against the desk and standing up straight. Then he remembered that not only was she amongst veritable strangers, this was also likely her first experience as a member of a team. Her translation work for MI6 must have been a solitary activity.

She looked up at him, perhaps sensing his scrutiny, and Lucas gave her a small smile. It seemed to put her at ease, because she stopped fidgeting and focused on the picture of the blond man on Ruth's screen. Mikhail Kolesnikov. Although he was a high-level FSB operative, the man's name was unfamiliar, so Lucas doubted that MI5 had encountered him before.

"According to this, Kolesnikov has never been in London until recently," said Ruth. Now it became clear why the man's name hadn't rung a bell.

Tariq went back to his computer and typed a command into it. "I did a scan of London airport CCTV and found this footage." The computer was connected to a projector, and they saw a video of a blond man--Mikhail Kolesnikov--going through Heathrow's customs three days ago.

"So now we have a better estimate of when Altan disappeared," Lucas said. "But Turks and Russians? They don't have much of a history."

"But the Russians _do_ have a history of secrets," Varinia pointed out. "What if they're somehow responsible for the illnesses in Ardahan and Altan found out?"

Harry considered this, frowning. "It's possible," he said. "Why send a man from Russia, though? There are plenty of FSB agents here in London who would eagerly take the job."

"Maybe the London faction doesn't know about the motherland's actions in Turkey," Lucas suggested.

Ruth raised her eyebrows. "It certainly wouldn't be the first time communications broke down between Russia and its foreign operatives."

While they'd been theorizing, Tariq had run a more extensive search of Kolesnikov. The results were revealing.

"CCTV has captured him at all the major train stations, ports, and airports." He pulled up footage dated a few hours ago, from Heathrow. "He's either a fan of train and plane spotting, or he doesn't know where Altan is either."

"Which means the Russians didn't take him," Ruth deduced.

"So he disappeared on his own, then?" Varinia wondered.

Lucas shared a grim look with Harry. "Or he was taken by someone else."

"Either way, we need to find out what Kolesnikov knows," said Harry. "Lucas?"

"I'm on it."

Harry nodded and turned to Varinia. "How's your Russian?"

"Conversational." The woman glanced warily at Lucas, who was tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans and fitting his coms. "Why?"

"If the Russians are indeed responsible for the illnesses in Ardahan, there may be some record of it in their files. Tariq will get access to them and send them to you."

Varinia looked relieved. "Oh, good. For a second, I thought you had wanted me to go with Lucas."

"In this case, Lucas is quite capable of handling the linguistics," Harry replied, with a wry smile.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and she glanced at the dark-haired spy, but he was already walking towards the lift. She returned to her desk and resumed perusing the Turkish documents, while Tariq scrounged up the Russian ones. The media hadn't yielded anything promising, so the tech whizz had accessed the government's files, and those were what she was currently wading through.

The last time she had read so much Turkish was when she was _in_ Turkey.

#

It was nearly 2 AM when Lucas returned to the Grid. He had gone to the FSB safe house in which Kolesnikov was staying and found the Russian agent asleep. He'd considered how simple it would be to pluck him from bed and bring him in, but then the Kremlin would know that MI5 suspected its involvement in whatever plot Altan had discovered and would act accordingly. Lucas needed the Russians to believe that they were secure, so he had bugged Kolesnikov's flat and downloaded his SIM card, then silently slipped out the door.

In the car, he'd briefed Harry about the mission and forwarded the SIM card's information for Tariq to analyze. He didn't need to be there for that, so he stopped for fish and chips and ate them leisurely by the river, while he thought about how to proceed with the linguist.

Now, as he exited the lift, he saw that only Varinia remained in the office, sitting in front of her computer, her chin in her hand. She looked exhausted.

"Still here?" Lucas asked, pulling up a chair beside her. She had moved on from the Turkish documents to the Russian ones.

"Yeah, I found a couple potential leads from Ardahan's main hospital, records of symptoms and such, but the files indicate that they weren't really a cause for concern. Mundane things, like the flu and sore throats and fevers," she said, blinking tiredly. "So Harry thought the Russian stuff might yield more info."

"A lot of really nasty illnesses begin with mundane symptoms," Lucas reminded her.

"I know, and I've compiled a list of people for Tariq to check out. He's quite amazing with a computer."

Lucas chuckled. "Yeah, he's a real tech genius, that one." He glanced at Varinia out of the corner of his eye, as she yawned. "You look like you're about to fall over. Go home."

"But I need to finish this..." She gestured to her computer screen, which was filled with Cyrillic writing.

"There's no way you'll get through all those files today. Get some sleep and start fresh in the morning."

Varinia glimpsed the clock. 2.30 AM. "Christ, is that really the time?"

"Unfortunately," Lucas nodded. "Do you need a lift home?"

She smiled at him, and despite the weariness on her face, the effect was a pretty one.

"I'll be fine, thanks."

He waited for her to shut off her computer and don her coat, then walked with her towards the exit. When they were outside, she turned to him suddenly, an inscrutable expression on her face.

"You speak Russian, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"I do. I spent a lot of time in Russia," he replied vaguely. "Was stationed in Moscow."

She seemed to accept his answer, for she nodded and began to walk down the sidewalk. Lucas followed, though his car was parked in the garage. From her file, he knew she lived only a few blocks away, but it was late, and she didn't cut a very intimidating figure in her four-inch heels.

"Is your flat this way, too?" she asked. Her expression and tone were innocent, yet he suspected she was teasing him.

"No." He put his hands in his pockets and smirked. "But I fancy myself a gentleman."

"Walking a lady to her door." Varinia's lips twitched, as she glanced up at him. "Very gentlemanly behavior, indeed. I can't remember the last time a man escorted me home."

He also knew from her file that she was single, though why _that_ fact had stuck in his mind, he did not know.

"An oversight I am pleased to rectify."

Lucas couldn't see it in the dark, but Varinia blushed.

They walked in companionable silence, broken only by the sounds of bars and clubs in the distance, until they reached Varinia's building. She unlocked the front door and turned to him.

"Thank you, Lucas," she said, smiling up at him. He couldn't help but reciprocate. "I feel bad that you have to walk all the way back for your car."

He shrugged. "It's not far."

"No, it's not." He was probably imagining it, but there was something wistful in her expression then. However, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone, and she was raising up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Or rather, later today."

Lucas nodded, surprised by her affectionate gesture, and watched her enter the building. Only when he heard the click of her heels as she climbed the stairs did he make his way back to the Grid.


	4. Crimson Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakthroughs are made, in more ways than one. 
> 
> I made up some of Lucas' past, because the one the writers gave him included too much John Bateman.

_Wednesday_

The names of the Turkish patients Varinia had given Tariq to check out were dead ends, except for one--Eda Büyük, a 76-year-old woman who had presented with flu-like symptoms at Ardahan's hospital. The doctor had given her a routine physical examination, then sent her home. Three days later, she was dead.

"Do we have the autopsy report?" Harry inquired.

"Nope." Tariq refreshed his computer again. "It's not in the hospital's system, so it probably hasn't been done yet."

Varinia's brows creased, as she scanned Eda's medical records. "She has quite a history. According to this, she's had five surgeries, including to remove her gallbladder and part of her spleen."

"Are the two organs related?" Lucas asked, glancing over at the file, which was in Turkish. All he could deduce from it was that Eda's blood type was O negative and that she had weighed fifty kilograms before her death.

"No. Her gallbladder was taken out because she had gallstones, while the splenectomy was a result of a car accident." Varinia scrolled to the third page of the woman's medical history. "Nevertheless, she certainly wasn't healthy. She had advanced diabetes, so they may not do an autopsy."

"But to die a few days after showing flu-like symptoms?" Ruth wondered.

Varinia shrugged. "Diabetes compromises the immune system, so the doctors might think it exacerbated the flu. Plus, she was missing half her spleen, so that, too, lowered her immune system."

"It's not unheard of for the elderly to die of the flu," Lucas agreed.

"If there is to be no autopsy, we must conduct one ourselves," Harry said, garnering bemused expressions from his team. "Tariq, dig deeper. Get a hold of the police report. Eda's body was found by her daughter, wasn't it?"

"It was," Tariq confirmed. "I'll forward the files to you, Varinia, once I've got them."

"In the meantime, keep searching through the Russian documents," Harry instructed Varinia. "If she really did die of the illness that Altan warned us about, the Russians are definitely involved."

She nodded and got to work. An hour later, Varinia had translated the Turkish police report on Eda's death but had still discovered nothing relevant in the Russian files.

"She was found, quite literally, in a pool of her own vomit." Varinia averted her gaze from the photograph accompanying the description. It depicted a gruesome sight. An old woman laid on her side on a cream-colored carpet, with a pile of bloody vomit by her mouth. "The police estimate she'd only been dead a few hours, as the first stage of decomposition hadn't set in yet. Apparently, the family requested a postmortem exam, scheduled for this Friday, so we'll get an autopsy report after all."

"Did the police mention anything about her symptoms?" Ruth asked.

"Apart from noting that she had a rash on her neck here..." Varinia pointed to a close-up photograph of Eda, "No, they didn't. But they wrote two pages on the state of her home and whether her doors and windows were locked."

Lucas' lips twitched. "Ah, well, it's their job to rule out foul play."

"She probably asphyxiated on her own vomit," Varinia retorted. "Unless she was poisoned, which wouldn't be determined until a tox screen anyway, I fail to see how murder is even an option."

"Poison gas," Tariq quipped, the comment earning a mock-glare from the linguist.

"Can we get back on topic, please?" Harry requested. "Does her medical record say anything about a rash?"

"No," Varinia replied. "So it must've manifested after her check-up. Honestly, from her signs and symptoms so far, she could have had just about anything."

"Meningitis?" Ruth suggested. "It's deadly and wouldn't even require manipulation in a lab."

"There's a vaccine against it," Lucas said. "Not to mention, bacterial meningitis, the more severe form, can be treated successfully with antibiotics."

"Unless they create a new strain that's antibiotic-resistant and a lot more contagious," Varinia pointed out.

"They could do that with the flu," Tariq said. "It's already extremely contagious, and if they engineered a more lethal variant, it would cause a pandemic."

Lucas shook his head. "Influenza is a retrovirus, and retroviruses are notoriously difficult to mess with, since they alter themselves all the time."

Harry turned to Ruth. "Call that infectious disease specialist, Dr Gallagher. We may need her on hand soon." He glanced at Lucas, giving him a small nod, before returning to his office.

Lucas followed Harry and placed two dossiers on his desk. The head of section D opened the first one.

"Our Russian's been talking an awful lot with Moscow," Lucas explained. "It's only been about twelve hours since I bugged his flat, and he's already called home twice. The bastard's clever, though, only talks in code."

Harry looked up at Lucas. "Is the code in Russian?"

"Mostly," Lucas said, crossing his arms. "There are random English words thrown in, like the names of famous people who couldn't possibly have anything to do with whatever they're planning, as they're either fictional or dead." He met his boss' gaze, a grave expression on his face. "Harry, this could be a lot more serious than we originally thought."

That possibility was not lost on the senior spy. He scanned the folder containing Kolesnikov's SIM card information again, then closed it, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Do you understand what Kolesnikov is saying?"

Lucas flipped through the second dossier to a transcript of Kolesnikov's bugged phone conversations. He pointed to a sentence a quarter of the way down the page.

"I think Basil Argyros is Altan."

"From Harry Turtledove's short stories. Clever," Harry mused aloud. He read the sentence, then the rest of the conversation. "So the Russians have no idea where he is."

"No, but neither do we."

At that moment, Ruth poked her head in.

"Actually, we do."

The folders were forgotten, as Harry and Lucas joined Tariq by his computer.

"His trail went cold about a week ago, but look at this."

Tariq pulled up a forum about the British Midlands, where a user named "Crimson Dawn" praised stilton cheese, saying it was superior to other cheeses, including one called _kasar_.

Harry's brows furrowed. "How do you know Crimson Dawn is Altan?"

"Because Altan means 'red dawn' in Turkish, and one of the cheeses he compared stilton to is a Turkish cheese." Varinia smiled triumphantly. "It's normally written with an s-cedilla, but that might've been too obvious." At her companions' blank stares, she clarified, "An s-cedilla is an _s_ with a little hook hanging off of it."

"I had no idea that thing had a name!" Tariq grinned, then cleared his throat when Harry glanced at him. "Sorry. Continue, Varinia."

"Tariq did a quick search and learned that stilton was first produced near a village called Hungarton in Leicestershire."

"So that's where Altan is hiding," Lucas deduced, already donning his coat. "The Midlands are about a two hour drive. I can make it there and back today."

"Excellent work," Harry said, with a rare smile. "Varinia, go with Lucas. If Altan is afraid, hearing a familiar language might help. Tariq, can you delete that comment from the forum? We don't want our Russian friend finding it and beating us to our asset."

The tech whizz nodded. "I'm on it."

Lucas and Varinia took the lift to the garage, where he unlocked a black Audi A6.

"Nice car," she said, sliding into the passenger seat. "But I still can't get used to the fact that not only do you Brits drive on the wrong side of the road, but you also drive on the wrong side of the _car_."

"On the contrary," said Lucas, pulling out of the garage. "It's everyone else that drives on the wrong side."

"Were cars invented in England, that you claim a monopoly on driving?" she asked, a brow lifting in amusement.

A half-smile graced Lucas' lips. "No, but you can't call it wrong when you're _in_ the UK, love." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, as they stopped at a red light. "Stuck with me again, then."

"It would seem so," she replied, crossing her legs. The motion caused the hem of her skirt to ride up, exposing a shapely thigh covered by sheer, black tights. Lucas noticed. "I'm beginning to think you're the only spy MI5 has."

"Or the best," he smirked, and Varinia snorted. "Or maybe we're paired up again because between the two of us, we can communicate with most of Europe and Eurasia."

Her amusement vanished, and she looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"You read my file."

"I did," he replied. Lucas saw a shadow flit across her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, staring out the window. There wasn't much to see, as they were passing through the outskirts of London on the way to the M11. "It's just that now you know everything about me, while I barely know anything about you."

"You know I speak Russian," Lucas pointed out. "And I don't know everything. Just your basic bio." Varinia raised her eyebrows, not believing him. "And maybe a bit more," he admitted. "It's how it-"

"Works, I know," she interrupted. She sighed. "It's just weird that you know my marital status and shoe size."

"Actually, I stopped reading before I got to your shoe size." He saw her lips twitch and forged ahead. "We have two hours. I think that's plenty of time to start to get to know each other." Varinia flashed him a bright smile that made him feel like a schoolboy again. Placing both hands on the wheel, he asked, "Do you want to go first, or should I?"

"You," she said. "To even out the board a bit."

"Okay." Lucas paused, remembering what he had learned about Varinia from her file. "I grew up in rural Cumbria, about as far away from London and espionage as I could be. Dad's a Methodist minister, and Mum's a teacher, which is pretty normal for that area. I try to visit a few times a year, but to be honest, there's really not much to do there."

Varinia giggled. "I would have never pegged you as a country boy _or_ as the son of a minister."

"No, I've come a long way from that," he agreed.

"What about schooling?"

"University in Leeds," Lucas replied. He glanced in his mirrors and changed lanes. "Studied literature."

"Really?" Her eyes widened in surprise.

Lucas grinned at her expression. "It's true. I'm an avid admirer of William Blake."

She made a noise, which he took to mean acknowledgement. "Kind of strange for a Spook to like William Blake, isn't it? One supports the government, while the other distrusts it."

"You'd be surprised how many of us distrust governments," Lucas said dryly. "I think this profession requires it. Or breeds it," he murmured. "There's too much shady, underhanded stuff that goes on for one to believe in the government."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to understand that. It's overwhelming sometimes," Varinia admitted. "I would be translating an order for a secret assassination in Russia one minute, then a clandestine conversation about a planned revolt in Prague the next." She glanced out the window, at the countryside passing by in a blur of green. "This job has definitely bred distrust of institutions."

He felt sympathetic towards her. She was comparatively young and had been unceremoniously dropped into the international political cauldron, which was always in danger of boiling over. Lucas took his left hand off the wheel to briefly touch hers. She looked at him sharply, curiously.

"How did you start working for Six?"

"I was recruited in Budapest," she said, with a laugh. "I'd taken a job as a tour guide, and I guess one of their agents noticed I was decent at languages. He followed me into St Stephen's Basilica and offered me a job."

"I would say you're more than just _decent_ at languages," he remarked pointedly. "How did you learn them all?"

She gave him a little smile. "You saw my lack of university, then." He nodded. "I learned them by listening and speaking, really. It's astonishing how quickly one learns a language when immersed in it."

"The moving around."

"The moving around," she affirmed. "My dad was a diplomat, so he was sent to neighboring countries. That's how I learned Czech, Romanian, and German." Varinia shrugged. "Afterwards, I kept moving around because that was how I'd grown up."

"Didn't you miss home?"

"Budapest, you mean? Yeah, more and more," she replied. "But for a while, Prague, Bucharest, and Vienna were home, too. I can't say I miss Prague or Bucharest, though. The people there weren't very nice to Hungarians."

"And Russian?"

"I learned that one from some friends," she said. "I visited Moscow with my parents a few times, but the trips were never very long. It's why I'm not fluent." Varinia turned in her seat to face him. "But _you_ are. Did you learn while you were stationed there?"

Lucas was silent, considering how much he should tell her. Ever since returning to England, he had barely spoken about Moscow or Lushanka, unless it was relevant to a case. He still couldn't shake those eight years. In fact, after Sarah's betrayal and death, he had probably regressed in his coping.

"No," he said finally. "I actually learned Russian from my ex-wife."

"You were married?" Varinia asked, agape. He arched a brow, amused, and she realised her exclamation could be misconstrued. "I don't mean that in the way it sounded. I'm just surprised you could make a marriage work." His lips twitched when she grimaced. "That sounded bad, too. I'll shut up now."

Lucas laughed, a deep, hearty sound that brought a smile to Varinia's flushed face.

"I know what you meant," he reassured her. "I never told Elizabeta what I was."

"Wow," she breathed. "How did you keep that a secret? It's not the most conventional of professions."

"It wasn't easy," Lucas said. "She thought I worked in government, so that accounted for the late nights, early mornings, and unexpected trips. But there were times when I nearly told her."

"Why didn't you?"

"She was Russian," he said simply.

"Did you think she would betray you to the FSB?"

"No," Lucas replied firmly. "But if the FSB were watching her, I was afraid they would use her against me."

"It's a miracle they didn't."

"A miracle," he echoed. Varinia looked at him curiously but didn't question him. "She's remarried with a kid now."

"Did you have children?"

He shook his head and smiled wistfully. "No, but we talked about having them. I think we would have, too, had we not separated." He glanced at Varinia, who was regarding him sadly. "I've made peace with it. Everything happens for a reason, right?"

"I suppose so," she said uncertainly. Lucas wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind her words. Did she know about Sarah? After all, she worked for Six and had undoubtedly heard gossip, but Nightingale would have been well above her clearance. If not Sarah, then maybe someone had told her about Lushanka.

But before he could ascertain just how much she knew, Varinia asked, "How far is Cumbria from the Midlands?"

"Far," he replied, glad for the topic change. "It's in Northwest England, right on the border with Scotland."

"So your native accent is Northern English," she said, grinning. "Go on."

He chuckled. "Maybe on the drive back. We're nearly there."

"Spoilsport," she muttered, but she was still smiling.

As Lucas eased off the highway, he was surprised at how quickly and enjoyably those two and a half hours had passed.

 


	5. Hungarton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The asset is retrieved, and Lucas tries to sort out how Varinia makes him feel.

Hungarton was a small village in the East Midlands, barely even qualifying as a blip on the map. Many of the houses dated back to the 1700s, but the settlement itself was far older than that. Boasting a church, a village hall, a pub, and plenty of greenery, its claim to fame rested in stilton cheese, which was first produced at nearby Quenby Hall. Varinia found Hungarton quaint, but Lucas was unimpressed.

"It looks like any old English village."

"Like your hometown?"

"Exactly," he agreed. "Dull, quiet, and empty."

"I don't think it'll be dull for long," she murmured.

They drove around the village twice, scanning the historical houses for any clues as to which one their asset was hiding in. They weren't very colorful, Varinia thought, unlike the houses in Hungarian villages, but the brick somehow added to Hungarton's charm. The people on the street eyed the black Audi uncertainly, sometimes suspiciously, particularly when it made its second round.

"He'd choose a house amongst the others," Lucas said. "To disappear in the crowd, as it were."

"But maybe not on the main road. It's the first place someone would look."

He nodded and turned down a side street, one of three in the small settlement. Nothing about these houses stood out either, and Varinia was becoming frustrated.

"Maybe we got it wrong," she suggested. "Saw what we wanted to see. Crimson Dawn could really just be a cheese-lover from the Midlands who happened to sample Turkish cheese somewhere."

"It's too coincidental," Lucas said, with a shake of his head. He turned left onto the second side street and stopped to allow a few kids on bikes to cross. They did so slowly, admiring the car. It was then that he caught a glimpse of a dark face peering through the curtains of one of the houses.

"Gotcha."

Varinia brightened. "Where?"

"Number 207." He drove past the house and parked around a bend. At her questioning glance, he said, "Why should the Russians have it easier?"

They walked along the sidewalk towards 207, Lucas surreptitiously taking in his surroundings. Only a handful of people were out and about, and they paid little attention to the two of them.

"You think they know?"

He shrugged and lowered his voice when they passed a middle-aged man.

"His comment hadn't been up on the forum for long, but you never know with our friends."

Bending down to retie his shoelace, Lucas waited until the street was clear before climbing the steps to Altan's house. He withdrew the gun from his coat, cocked it, and gave Varinia a meaningful look.

"We have no idea how he'll react," he warned softly. "So stay behind me."

She nodded, shifting restlessly from one boot-clad foot to the other, while Lucas rang the doorbell. No response, but he hadn't really expected one. Pulling out a pick, he made quick work of the lock and silently pushed open the door. He entered slowly, gun held out in front of him, blue eyes darting around the dim foyer. Varinia closed the door soundlessly and followed, stepping carefully so that her heels made as little noise as possible.

Only when they were far enough away from the entrance did Lucas call out.

"It's British security services. We got your message."

No answer. They advanced into the living room but stopped abruptly when they saw what greeted them. Their asset stood by a sofa, pointing a Glock at Lucas, whose own gun was aimed at the man's chest. Varinia stifled a gasp as she watched the tense standoff, neither participant budging. Then she was inching forward, hands held up to show that she carried no weapon.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lucas demanded, not taking his gaze from the other man. The Turk eyed Varinia but made no move to stop her. So neither did the spy.

" _We're here to help_ , _Altan,_ " she said in Turkish, ignoring Lucas' question. " _Your clues led us here_."

The man's hand twitched, but he still didn't lower his gun. Varinia glanced at it and continued forward slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal.

" _I promise we're not here to hurt you_ ," she tried again. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she smiled reassuringly. " _You have information we need._ "

Lucas, who had been observing Altan during Varinia's attempts, lowered his gun. Whether it was because of the linguist or because Lucas had done so first, Altan finally put down the Glock.

"I was not expecting a countrywoman," he said in English, his demeanor changing as he relaxed. "That was a nice touch."

Varinia laughed. "Oh, I'm not from Turkey. I just lived there for a while."

Before the two could reminisce about Istanbul or where ever they had been, Lucas stepped in.

"Is it safe?"

Altan nodded. "No bugs."

"We're MI5, and we really need to know what you discovered in Ardahan."

"You found my trousers, then," the Turk grinned. "Better you than whoever you're afraid might have been listening."

"So you don't know who's after you?" Varinia asked.

Altan shrugged. "It could be the Russians or the Chinese or even the Americans." He looked at Lucas wryly. "Or all three."

"The Americans, Chinese, and Russians working together?" she questioned, brows raising in disbelief. "Surely not."

The spy, better acquainted with the three nations than the linguist was, did not dismiss Altan's suggestion as readily.

"To our knowledge, only the Russians are currently involved," he said. "We need to get you to Thames House as soon as possible."

"Back to the lion's den?" the Turk scoffed. "I left London for a reason, and it certainly wasn't to gorge myself on stilton." He grimaced. "Terrible cheese."

Varinia giggled, while Lucas crossed his arms impatiently.

"You'll be safe there," he reassured. "Our tech guy deleted your comment from the forum, but there's still a chance the Russians saw it. The longer we remain here, the greater the risk of them finding you."

Altan turned to Varinia. " _Where in Turkey did you live?_ "

She hesitated, surprised by the question. "Istanbul and Antalya."

" _Antalya_ ," the man smiled. " _I have fond memories of Antalya_." He glimpsed Lucas' scowl and said in English, "I believe that black Audi belongs to you?"

#

The drive back to London, thought Lucas, was decidedly less pleasant than the drive to Hungarton. Varinia chatted with Altan, in both English and Turkish, but their conversation included nothing relevant to the case. Lucas did, however, learn more about Turkish cuisine than he'd really cared to know, while his two companions exchanged favorite foods and restaurants. It was a blessing, really, when they reached the Grid.

The Turk's expression grew grim, as he listened to the team update him on what they'd learned.

"So, it's already begun," he said, staring at the postmortem picture of Eda Büyük.

"What exactly did you overhear?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Altan replied. "A contact back in Istanbul heard rumblings of a potential disease outbreak in Ardahan. He didn't know much, just that something might happen soon."

"Okay." Lucas leant back against a desk and folded his arms. "But why tell you?"

The Turk shrugged. "We're friends. We'd worked together for years before I moved to England. Wouldn't you tell a trusted colleague and friend if you'd learned something potentially significant?"

The question was rhetorical but nevertheless a valid one.

"Did he not trust anyone in Istanbul?" Varinia asked.

"At that point, no. He had no idea if the murmurs were even true or if the government was involved."

"We found no evidence that your government is involved," Harry assured. "But that doesn't necessary rule out the possibility."

Altan smiled wryly. "No, it certainly does not." Then he glanced at Eda again and sobered. "But you think it was the Russians?"

"Again, we found no evidence in their documents," Harry said.

"But considering it was a Russian who turned your flat upside down, it's safe to say you know something they'd really rather keep quiet," Lucas added.

"What did Eda die of?"

"We don't know yet," Ruth answered.

"But you believe she is linked?"

"On the surface, her death may not appear to be suspicious, which is likely what the people responsible intended," Lucas explained. "But knowing what we know, it's a possibility, yes."

"A good possibility," Harry said gravely.

"It's too coincidental," remarked Varinia, smiling slightly. She echoed Lucas' words to her in Hungarton. "And let's face it, if the Russians _are_ involved, biological weapons aren't exactly a stretch for them."

"Can you get in contact with your friend?" Harry asked. "He may know more by now."

Altan nodded and pulled out his mobile, which had already been checked over and deemed safe by Tariq. The SIM card was registered to a false name, making tracking it to the Turk difficult. That was why his trail had seemingly gone cold when Ruth and Tariq were searching for him.

The line rang and rang, but no one picked up. Altan tried again, with the same result. A sense of foreboding settled upon the people in the office.

"Maybe he doesn't answer unknown numbers," Varinia suggested hopefully, but her strained smile betrayed her concern.

"Or someone learned he knew something," Altan said darkly. "The Russians found out about _me_ , after all."

Harry shared a grim look with Lucas. "This is no longer a domestic issue," he said. "We may need Six's help."

Varinia glanced sharply at the head of section D.

"You haven't told them yet?"

"Our priority was our asset," Harry replied brusquely. "And that does not concern Six."

"Yeah, but they may have known something we didn't," she insisted. "They have agents stationed in Turkey who could have heard the same whispers as Altan's friend."

"And if it all turned out to be merely rumour? We'd have been the sods crying wolf," Lucas said, eyes flashing with a warning. A warning that Varinia did not heed.

"I doubt Moscow would've sent a man to London because of rumours," she retorted dryly.

Before Lucas could reply, Ruth stepped in. "I can contact Marcus at Six, Harry."

"Tell him we'll meet somewhere," he said. "I'd rather do this in person."

Ruth nodded and went to her desk to do as requested. Harry turned to Altan.

"Thank you for your help," he said, shaking the Turk's hand. "We've a safe house set up for you. Unless you have any other information, Lucas and Varinia will take you to it now."

"Will you keep me updated on the situation?" Altan asked. "As you can imagine, I would prefer to know if there is to be an epidemic in my country."

"Of course," Harry assured. "And if we establish contact with your friend, we'll give him your regards."

Altan grinned and clapped a hand to Harry's back. "You English are so accommodating."

Lucas smiled a touch derisively, as he led the way to the garage.

#

After dropping off Altan at the safe house, Lucas had a bone to pick with the linguist.

"You did a reckless thing earlier." Varinia furrowed her eyebrows, so he clarified. "Approaching a man with a gun unarmed."

"I was doing my job," she retorted, fidgeting in her seat. Lucas noticed she did that when irritated or uncomfortable.

"He could have shot you, Varinia."

"Do you think that didn't cross my mind?" she huffed and tugged at the sleeves of her cardigan. "I froze at first, because I'd never had a gun pointed at me before." She paused, frowning. "Well okay, it was pointed at _you_ , but that makes no difference." Lucas glanced at her curiously, but she didn't elaborate.

"Then why did you approach him when I'd told you to stay behind me?"

"Because he was afraid, too," Varinia replied. "Like Altan said, he hid for a reason. Besides, Harry told me to talk to him in Turkish, so I did."

"You could've done that from behind me," Lucas pointed out.

"True," she agreed. "But I figured he would be less likely to shoot me than you."

"Yes, as you were unarmed," he said. "But your safety is nevertheless my responsibility."

"And I _was_ safe," she replied. "Or else Altan would be sporting a nice little bullet hole right now." Lucas opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "I'm sorry for being contrary. I do appreciate what you're saying."

He clenched his jaw, unsure what to say to that. He'd planned to lecture her, to scold her, but her apology had taken the wind out of his sails. From the moment he'd met Varinia, she had been consistently disarming him in one way or another.

"Good," he muttered. "Because Six'll have my head if something happens to you."

She laughed at that. "No, they won't. They'll just find another linguist."

They drove in silence after that, each lost in his or her thoughts, until they crossed Lambeth Bridge.

Lucas glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

Varinia looked startled, by the question or by the sudden break in silence, he didn't know.

"Yes, actually." Her answer was accompanied by a grumble, and she pressed a hand to her stomach in embarrassment. "Apparently a lot hungrier than I realised."

"A hazard of the job," Lucas quipped, with a half-smile. "What's your fancy?"

"I could do with a good burger," she said, then laughed at the surprise on his face. "What's that look?"

"What look?" he asked, instantly schooling his expression to one of casual interest.

"The look that says, 'I thought women only ate salads'," she retorted.

Lucas' lips twitched, which happened quite often in the company of the linguist.

"You must have been mistaken."

"Of course," Varinia agreed. "I'm also obviously imagining the smile that's threatening to form." He nearly _did_ smile at that. "I like burgers," she said, shrugging. "I don't eat them every day, mind you, but I believe moderation is the key to happiness."

"And to that figure," Lucas murmured. Varinia pretended not to hear him, but as she gazed out the window at the Thames, she couldn't suppress a grin.


	6. Ankara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia take a little trip.

When Harry liaised with MI6, he'd learned one of their operatives stationed in Ankara had dug around and discovered that Altan's friend had indeed gone missing, two days after Kolesnikov had arrived in London. The two events could not have been coincidence. It was becoming readily apparent that something was happening in Turkey and that the Russians were involved.

Altan bore the news of his friend's disappearance heavily.

"I don't really know how these things work," he said, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk. "Is there a chance he could be alive?"

Harry exchanged a glance with Lucas.

"The Russians may want to question him about what he knows," Harry replied. "Perhaps to learn government secrets."

"But when he stops being useful to them, they'll kill him."

Altan looked startled by Lucas' candor. Varinia glared at the spy and placed a hand on the Turk's shoulder.

"Agents in Turkey are searching for him as we speak," she reassured. "He may have voluntarily gone into hiding, like you. But even if he was abducted, he may still be alive. Either way, I'm sure they'll find him."

Altan gave her a wan smile and stood. "Thank you for keeping me in the loop, as you English call it. I think I'd like to go back to the safe house now."

Harry nodded. "Lucas?"

The spy suppressed a scowl at being reduced to a chauffeur and slipped on his coat. Varinia would not be accompanying him this time, because she was in the process of translating the Turkish officials' conversations that Six had acquired. Lucas tried to ignore the stab of disappointment he felt. He had grown accustomed to their shared commutes more quickly than he'd realised.

Or was comfortable with.

Before he got into the lift, Varinia flashed him a smile. He was tempted to return it.

#

When she finished her translations, Varinia took the transcripts into Harry's office, along with Eda's autopsy write-up that she had completed earlier.

"I think they know something's not right," she said. "Look at this." Harry scanned the sheet of paper she handed to him and frowned. "They don't mention Ardahan by name, but they _do_ allude to Eda Büyük."

"Yes, as the 'sick woman recently found by police'," Harry replied. "That's not exactly calling her by name."

"It's vague, I grant you that," Varinia acceded. "But it's also kind of arbitrary when used out of context. Why would two prominent government officials be discussing an unnamed sick woman?"

Harry read the transcript again, considering. "We'll stay in contact with Six. Perhaps they'll discover more."

Varinia nodded. "Also, Tariq's finally got the results of Eda's autopsy." She slid a second sheet of paper in front of him. "Harry, I think they're covering something up."

He was silent, while he skimmed the report. When he set it down, his expression was somber.

"The pathologist makes no mention of the flu but writes that she died of natural causes."

"A person who dies of natural causes does not vomit up blood," she remarked dryly.

"Not usually, no," Harry agreed. He placed the translations back into their folder and regarded Varinia thoughtfully. "I'd like to have one of our men...and women...in Ankara. Would you be willing to go?"

She looked surprised. "I'm not technically MI5."

"No, but Lucas is," Harry replied, his lips twitching. "And he'll need someone familiar with the country and language."

"I see," said Varinia guardedly. "And how does Lucas feel about this?"

"He doesn't know yet. When he returns from dropping off Altan, I will brief him." Harry saw that she still looked uncertain. "It is prudent for MI5 to learn exactly what's happening, because with the Russians involved, who knows where they'll strike next. It could very well be England. Or Hungary."

Varinia nodded and sat down across from Harry. "That Kolesnikov. Has he said anything useful?"

"He believes Altan is being protected by us, but Tariq is certain the Russians cannot infiltrate our network of safe houses." Harry gave her a strained smile. "Just to be sure, though, we've moved him to a new location that's not in the system."

"But nothing about stepping up the operation?" She looked down at her hands, smiling sheepishly. "Is that even the proper way to say that?"

Amusement danced in Harry's eyes. "That's the proper terminology," he affirmed. "But no, Moscow has been rather quiet about that. Either the Russians suspect we're listening, or they're being more patient than usual. Neither option is encouraging."

"They may have discussed a contingency plan before Kolesnikov came to London," she suggested.

"Which is why Tariq is tracing his movements via mobile signal and CCTV," Harry agreed. "But they've all been fairly innocent thus far."

Varinia raised her eyebrows. "That _is_ disconcerting."

Before Harry could reply, Lucas walked into the office, looking surprised to see Varinia there.

"I'll get back to Ruth," she said, standing. "We were going through the files on some of the Turkish government officials."

"No, stay," said Harry and motioned for Lucas to take the chair beside hers. "After all, this concerns you, as well."

Lucas glanced at her, but she was intently studying her hands, which rested folded in her lap.

"Lucas, I'd like you and Varinia to go to Ankara. I don't think I need to tell you why." Harry gave him a meaningful look. The spy understood it. "How soon can you leave?"

"Immediately," Lucas replied. Varinia looked up, startled, and he nearly smiled. "If there's a flight this evening, we can be on it." That seemed to placate her, for she nodded in assent.

Harry briefed Lucas on Eda's postmortem results and on the Russians' curious inactivity, then sent him and Varinia on their way.

"I'll pick you up at your flat in two hours. Is that enough time to pack?"

"Yeah, of course," she replied, colouring slightly. He found her blush endearing. "It's not like we're going for months."

Lucas smirked. "No, but women overpack."

"And men _under_ pack," she retorted, as they got into the lift. "What if you run out of underpants?"

"Then I wash them," he replied, arching his brow.

"True, but I'm not sure I'd want my knickers on display."

"Well, _I_ certainly wouldn't mind," he said, with a cheeky smile. Varinia laughed and headed for the exit, but Lucas touched her wrist. "It's faster if I drive you."

"You really _are_ a chauffeur," she teased, grinning when he scowled. "But you're not too keen on Altan, are you."

"He's...forward." Lucas started the car and backed out of the parking spot. She waited for him to elaborate, but he was silent.

"A lot of Turkish men are like that," Varinia explained. "Especially during Ramadan, when the rules of Islamic propriety are relaxed. I like the Turks. They were always friendly and helpful when I lived over there."

"Are you glad to be going back, then?"

"Yes and no," she replied. "I'm glad to see Turkey again, but the circumstances are less than ideal."

"They are," he agreed. "But maybe you can take me to that restaurant you and Altan like so much."

"That's in Istanbul. We're going to the capital, Ankara."

"Then we take a trip to Istanbul," Lucas said, with a shrug. Varinia smiled at him, as he pulled up in front of her building. "I'll see you in two hours." She nodded and got out of the car, giving him a slight wave before unlocking the door.

She wasn't sure how long they would be in Turkey, but she knew that the two of them would be spending far more time with each other than they had thus far. The thought simultaneously filled Varinia with excitement and anxiety.


	7. Turkish Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia meet Clive. More happens, but I hate writing chapter summaries. It's cute, though, I promise. 
> 
> **Note:** When I posted the previous chapter (chapter 6), it was titled "Istanbul," because apparently I'd forgotten that it wasn't the capital city and therefore would have neither the Turkish government nor a British embassy. Then I remembered that Ankara is the capital and quickly fixed it, but maybe some of you had already read it by then. So I apologize. I just wanted to let you all know, so that if you read this chapter, you're not confused that suddenly L+V are in Ankara, instead of Istanbul.

To Lucas' surprise, March in Ankara was a lot like March in London, except sunnier. Varinia reveled in it, tilting her face towards the sky, while they waited for a taxi to take them to the flat Tariq had found. Lucas observed her appreciatively, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"London's clouds must have been quite a change for you."

"Oh, they were," she affirmed. "Even in Hungary, we have lots of sunshine in spring. It's just the winter that's dreary."

"Are you calling my country dreary?" he asked, in mock-insult.

Varinia pushed her sunglasses atop her head and looked at him. Amusement danced in her eyes. "Yes," she said. "Because on some days, the sun only comes out for an hour or so before it sets."

"That's probably why we're so pasty." Varinia laughed softly, as she moved aside to allow the taxi driver to lift their luggage into the car. She slid into the backseat, and Lucas followed. "Does it snow in Turkey?"

"It did in Istanbul when I lived there," she replied. "Was kind of sporadic, though. Not like in Hungary, where it snows with a vengeance." Varinia made a face, her nose scrunching up slightly. "I can't say I miss _that_."

Lucas remembered Russian winters and silently agreed. The heating in Lushanka had worked haphazardly at best, and even when it was functional, the Russians had used it sparingly. Many inmates had suffered frostbite and hypothermia. A few had died. Lucas was fortunate that Darshavin had seemed to care about his well-being between interrogations, but the extra blanket and socks were nevertheless scant protection when it dropped to freezing inside. The days and nights of shivering... In some ways, those were worse than the torture sessions, because at least the pain had eventually stopped. But he still felt that cold in his bones.

He must have let something slip--in his eyes, perhaps--, because Varinia was watching him curiously.

"I was just thinking about winters back home," Lucas said. He quickly dismissed thoughts of Lushanka. "They were cold and wet, but Cumbria is _always_ cold and wet."

If she suspected he had lied, she didn't show it. Grinning, Varinia concluded, "I don't think I'd like Cumbria, then."

They rode on in silence after that, watching as the outskirts of the city gave way to grander buildings. Their flat was near the government district, along with MI6's Turkish base, but the area was not familiar to Varinia. When she'd visited Ankara, it had been for the historical sights only.

After Lucas swept the modern, two-bedroom flat for bugs and cameras, they discussed how they would proceed.

"We'll be working with Six on this," explained Lucas, sitting across from Varinia at the kitchen table. "They have a reliable contact in the government who knows about the situation in Ardahan. She will provide us with the information we need to track specific officials."

"And because we're posing as English tourists, we can get close to them without arousing suspicion?" Varinia checked.

"Exactly," Lucas nodded. "All you have to do is listen to their conversations." Her features clouded with something akin to worry, and he felt the urge to reassure her. "I'll be with you the entire time."

"But it's not just for my protection, is it? Harry thinks my loyalty is to MI6."

"Well, you _are_ one of theirs," he replied. "But in this case, our objective is in line with Six's. Neither one of us wants that mystery illness in England."

"No," she agreed. "But I'm not here just for England. Geographically, Central Europe is closer to Turkey than the UK is. If this disease spreads, it'll go there first."

"Hungary," he said, understanding. Lucas took her hand and squeezed it gently. "We'll get to the bottom of this before that happens."

"I hope so." Although she smiled, her eyes still held uncertainty.

Lucas regarded her pensively, then stood. "How would you like to work off some of that anxiety?"

"If you're suggesting exercise, I'd rather not."

He laughed. "No, not exercise."

"Sex?" she quipped, smiling mischievously. "I guess that's exercise, but it's a lot more enjoyable."

"No, not sex either." Though the suggestion was certainly an intriguing one. "But this is nearly as effective."

He led her out of the flat and down the sidewalk. At the corner, he paused, as if considering which way to go.

"Did you get lost?" she asked flatly. A chill breeze blew, and Varinia zipped up her leather jacket.

"Maybe," he admitted. "Tariq gave me directions to Six's headquarters," Lucas said, breaking off as he crossed the street. "But I didn't pay much attention."

"Men," Varinia muttered. "Turn right at the next intersection."

Lucas looked at her dubiously. "You said you've never been to this area before." Still, at the next intersection, he turned right.

"I haven't," she affirmed. "But I _have_ read a map."

"You wouldn't happen to have that map with you now, would you?"

"No," she said. "But bringing it would've been smart."

They followed the sidewalk for two blocks, then turned left. The street curved around a park and opened up into grassy plots dominated by large, white buildings. One of them bore the British coat of arms, with its rearing lion and unicorn.

"Is that the embassy?" Varinia asked innocently, but her smug grin was at odds with her tone.

He gave a long-suffering sigh and placed a hand on her lower back to guide her forward.

"Come on, before I change my mind."

When they entered the building, Lucas and Varinia showed their IDs to the guards and were admitted through security. A tall man with graying hair met them in the atrium.

"Mr North, Ms Erdélyi, it's a pleasure to have you here," he said, shaking their hands in turn. "I'm Clive Bolton, head of MI6's operations in Turkey. As I understand it, you need equipment?"

Varinia glanced at Lucas, who nodded.

"Would it be possible to try out a few guns first?"

"Of course," Clive replied. "I'll take you down myself." They piled into the lift, and Clive held up his ID to the scanner. "Both of you have access to most of the building, including the shooting range, while you're here in Ankara." He regarded Varinia curiously. "According to your file, you speak fluent Turkish, among other languages. We could use a polyglot out in the field."

Lucas bristled at the man's attempt to recruit Varinia but did not intervene. After watching the linguist diffuse the tense standoff with Altan, he had a new respect for her diplomatic abilities. And he was not disappointed this time either.

"I'm flattered," she said, indulging the man with a smile. "But my time in the field is temporary. Once I return to London, I resume my post as linguist."

"Well, if you reconsider, you'd only have to go through the training," said Clive. The elevator reached the basement, where they disembarked and entered into the shooting range. Through another security door were the guns.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said. "My office is on the third floor, if you need anything. I just ask that you show security your gear on your way out."

"Of course," Lucas nodded. He waited for Clive to leave, then picked up a Glock 17 semiautomatic pistol and gave it to Varinia. "The Glock 17 is a lightweight, reliable gun that's easy to fire."

Varinia turned the black handgun this way and that, scrutinizing it.

"Isn't this what Altan had pointed at you?"

"Yes," Lucas replied, impressed that she'd remembered. "It's one of two pistols MI5 uses most often." He picked up a silver semiautomatic handgun with a black handle. "The other is the Beretta 92FS Inox."

"That one's bigger," she observed. "And probably heavier, so I'll stick with the Glock."

"It's also probably what you certified with," he said.

"It was." They fitted earplugs and entered the range. "I warn you, I haven't fired a gun since I got my license."

"That's why we're here," Lucas reassured. He knew Varinia was nervous about being out in the field but hoped that practicing her self-defence in a controlled environment would improve her confidence. She would most likely never have to use a gun, but it was always prudent to be prepared.

He watched her load and cock the pistol and take position. Her stance was good; both hands were on the gun, one around the handle and the other supporting from below. After a deep breath, she pulled the trigger and fired off first one shot, then two. He noticed that she tensed slightly when the spent casings were ejected, but her aim remained steady. Satisfied that she was competent, he loaded his Beretta and focused on his own targets.

Once they were finished, they compared marks. As expected, Lucas' aim was far better than Varinia's.

"Wow, I really suck," she remarked, glancing between her targets and his. Some were the classic, circular targets, while others were drawings and figures of people. She had managed to shoot one bullet through a vital body region but no bullseyes.

"If that figure had been a real person, he'd be bleeding pretty badly right now," Lucas said. "So I wouldn't say you suck."

"That was a lucky shot. I wasn't aiming."

He chuckled and pointed to another of her bullet holes. "Well, even a bullet to the hand can be effective."

"I was aiming for his head," she retorted. "I'm fine with my skill level. If someone needs shooting, I'll just leave it to you." She smiled at him, as they collected the used targets. "This helped with my anxiety about the mission, though, so thank you."

"My pleasure," he said, allowing a half-smile to grace his lips. "Ready to head back?"

"And have dinner?" she asked hopefully. "I'm starving."

"Then dinner it is."

Lucas held the door open for her, unable to resist a full smile this time.

#

Four hours and six bottles of beer later, Lucas and Varinia were sitting on the leather sofa in the living room.

"I can't believe you'd never had falafel before," the linguist said.

"Yes, I know," Lucas replied patiently. "You couldn't believe it the first two times you said it either."

"But it's _falafel_." Lucas was sure the alcohol had gone to her head, even though she'd only drank two and a half of the six beers. "It's garlicky, chick pea-ey, flavourful goodness."

"I didn't really have many opportunities to eat it until now," he said. That was an understatement, for the prisons in Russia had served the same food every day. If he never tasted brown bread or cabbage again, he would be happy. Even the sight of them now turned his stomach, when previously he had liked both.

"The foods you will eat here," Varinia remarked wistfully. "Everything is full of spices and garlic. Kind of like Hungarian cooking, except with different spices."

Glad that the conversation was veering away from his apparent culinary deficits, Lucas refilled Varinia's glass with water and handed it to her.

"Drink. You're tipsy."

"Oh God, I know," she replied and sipped the water. "And after only two beers. I'm such a lightweight."

"At least you know your limit," he offered.

"Yeah, that I do. I've been drunk once and vowed never again." She grimaced, perhaps remembering the experience. "Plus, I knew a lot of really stupid drunks when I was younger. I just talk incessantly when I'm hammered."

"I get moody."

"Even more than you already are?" Lucas tried to look stern, but she giggled. "You don't smile much, do you."

"I do with you." Lucas shut his mouth, his jaw clenching, and silently berated himself for that confession. But when he saw Varinia blush, his irritation faded.

"I drank alcohol with you," she said. "And I don't drink alcohol with just anybody." Lucas' breath faltered, as she moved closer to him on the sofa. Placing a hand on his thigh, Varinia stretched up to kiss his cheek, allowing her lips to linger an instant longer than necessary. He was only slightly ashamed that he had noticed the soft brush of her breasts against his arm. "I think I'm heading to bed. Good night, Lucas."

He covered her hand with his and squeezed it gently. "Sleep well, Varinia."

 


	8. Turkish Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia sample Turkish tea (with a British kick) and make two startling discoveries.

On their second day in Ankara, Lucas and Varinia received intel that three government officials would be meeting in a little café near one of the bazaars. The establishment was not often frequented by tourists, but a few foreigners who were eager to eat and drink like the locals milled about.

Lucas and Varinia were two such foreigners.

"We'll have two Turkish teas, please," the linguist ordered. She had enthusiastically embraced her cover as a tourist and had even made sure to fumble with the money. "You wouldn't happen to have any milk, would you?"

Meanwhile, Lucas searched for a table. It had to be close enough to their targets so that Varinia could hear the conversations but not so close as to arouse suspicion. He found a spot along the wall, two tables in front of the government personnel. When Varinia joined him with their tea, he pulled out the chair for her. For an instant, surprise registered on her face, before she recovered and sat down.

"Well, it _looks_ like Orange Pekoe," she remarked, sniffing the dark red liquid. "But it smells more like English Breakfast."

"As long as it's hot, I don't care what it looks or smells like," Lucas said. He raised the glass to his lips, reconsidered, and placed it back down to add a bit of milk. "Remember how they drank tea in America?"

Varinia nodded. "Iced. What an abomination." She was unable to suppress a smile but managed to hide it in her glass. "Actually, this is rather good."

Lucas took a sip, as well, though his attention was on the others in the cafe. Most were Turkish, and a few of them eyed his milk-tinged tea dubiously. Good, that meant he and Varinia were convincing thus far.

He glanced at the linguist, who was meticulously folding her napkin into geometric shapes. She was listening, he knew. Lucas did his part, too, keeping their targets in sight to gauge their body language for signs that they suspected they were being observed. When one of them looked towards their table, he flipped open a guide book on Ankara.

"We can go to the Bazaar of Coppersmiths next, if you'd like."

Fortunately, Varinia was sitting with her back to the Turkish officials, which allowed her to arch an amused brow at Lucas. Her reply, however, was faithful to a typical tourist's.

"I read that you can buy quality jewelry there for bargain prices." She sipped her tea to give her an excuse to remain silent. As she took a large gulp, he felt her knee nudge his beneath the table. Their quarry had said something important. "I wonder if I could get one of those cabochon emerald and ruby necklaces."

"Well, if not, then maybe when we go to Istanbul."

The three government personnel finished their coffees and stood. One of them glanced around the teashop, but his gaze didn't linger. When they had gone, Varinia leaned forward, alarm evident on her face and in her voice.

"I think there's been another death in Ardahan."

"What do you mean you _think_?"

"Well, they weren't exactly explicit, were they," she defended. "One of them just said that there was another like Eda."

"He used her name?"

" _She_ ," Varinia corrected. "And yes, but she didn't mention the name of the other decedent."

Lucas pulled out his mobile and texted the new information to Harry.

"Tariq should be able to find out more," he said. "Though I doubt this time there will be a police report."

"No, probably not," Varinia agreed. She drank the rest of her tea and sighed. "Now what?"

"Now we wait for Six's asset to give us the time and place of the next meet."

Varinia grinned. "So we're free for the afternoon?" Lucas nodded. "Then can we go to the Bazaar of Coppersmiths?"

His first reaction was to grimace, but the linguist's eyes had lit up at the mention of the market. He could not bring himself to refuse.

"You do realise that the suggestion was part of our cover, don't you?"

"Yeah, but the bazaar's not far from here, and there really _are_ good deals on jewelry, among other things." She regarded him with a hint of mischief in her expression. "Besides, it's my turn to choose what we do. You picked gun range. I pick pretty things."

He gave her a half-smile and stood, offering her his hand. "How can I argue against such infallible logic?"

#

That night, Lucas received a call from Harry, asking to speak with Varinia. He pressed the speakerphone button and sat across from the linguist at the kitchen table.

 _"Tariq intercepted a conversation from Kolesnikov to an FSB agent in Turkey,"_ said Harry. His tone sounded strange, almost wary. _"He's forwarding it to both of you now."_

Within seconds, their mobiles _beeped_ , indicating a new e-mail. Since they were currently talking on Lucas' phone, Varinia opened the message on hers. Her brows furrowed, as she scanned it.

"Is this a joke, Harry?" She handed her mobile to Lucas, who comprehended nothing of the e-mail. The reason for that soon became apparent. "It's just a bunch of gibberish."

"It could be code," Lucas suggested.

 _"That's what we initially thought,"_ Harry replied. _"But when Tariq entered it into the decoder, it came up empty. So he ran it through a language recognition system, which identified at least five different languages."_

Varinia read through the transcript again. And this time, her jaw dropped.

"Oh my God. He's right," she breathed. "The Russians have pieced together bits and pieces of existing languages to make an entirely new one. I don't know _which_ languages, but I know one of them is definitely Slavic."

 _"We have to learn what that message says,"_ Harry urged. _"If it was important enough to create a language for, it's important enough for us to know. The health of hundreds or even thousands of people could be at stake."_

The linguist nodded, though only Lucas could see her. "I'll get started on it right away."

 _"Good,"_ said Harry. _"And it's best not to tell Six about the language until you've deciphered it. No need to worry them prematurely."_

Lucas' gaze followed Varinia, as she procured a notepad and pen and began to copy down the transcript.

"What about the second victim?"

There was a rustling on the other end, and Harry sighed.

_"Tariq hasn't found anything. It's probable that the Turkish government is aware of the illness and is trying to cover it up."_

"To prevent a panic, most likely," Lucas mused. "So we do what? Continue tailing officials in the hopes of hearing something relevant?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Varinia's brows drawn in concentration. She glanced up at him, looking mildly irritated, then returned her attention to the transcript. Lucas walked into his bedroom to avoid distracting her.

 _"If Six's contact has more information, then yes_ ," Harry replied. _"With Altan's friend missing, she's probably our only source regarding what's happening in Ardahan."_

"A mystery illness, a disappeared government official, and now a made-up language." Lucas scrubbed his face with his free hand, feeling suddenly weary. "We're in over our heads, Harry. We all are--the Turks, Six, Five."

_"Which is why it's imperative that Varinia translates Kolesnikov's message."_

He remembered the fire in her eyes when she realised the significance of the e-mail and smiled.

"If it's possible, she'll do it."

After Lucas had hung up, he saw Varinia lingering by his door. Fiddling with the hem of her blouse, she seemed uncertain again. He stood and walked to her.

"A few minutes ago, you looked so determined. What happened?"

"I remembered that I'm not a code-breaker," she replied flatly. "This isn't linguistics, Lucas. I may recognize a few Slavic traces, but it's not any Slavic language I've ever seen, and I've seen them all. And there's something vaguely Finno-Ugric about it, too, but I can't make out _what_."

"Finno-Ugric?"

"The language family to which Finnish, Estonian, and Hungarian belong," she said dismissively. "Along with a few ethnic Siberian languages."

"Hungarian? That's good. You should be able to figure that one out quickly."

Varinia shook her head. "No, because the pieces that make up this...chimaera...are not languages, per say," she explained. "They're parts of languages, like grammar or morphemes or syntax."

Though Lucas was fluent in Russian, he had never learned the linguistics of it or of any other language.

"You lost me at morphemes."

"Morphemes make up words," she answered. "For example, 'unknowable' consists of three morphemes, _un-, -know,_ and _-able_." Varinia paused, thinking. "They're kind of confusing, because there are different types, but syntax is straightforward. It's basically how a language forms its sentences."

"So this chimaera language takes inspiration from other languages?"

"Yes, and that's actually a really good way to describe it," she said, with a grin. "I know there are loan words also, albeit corrupted, but I can't match them to their origin languages yet."

"You've had access to the e-mail for ten whole minutes and still haven't identified the source languages?" His lips twitched, as she ducked her head to hide a smile. "Shame on you."

"You joke, Lucas, but a lot is riding on this. I've never done anything even remotely similar."

"Varinia," he said, tipping up her chin to look at him. "You're fluent in six languages and conversational in four others, including some Slavic and Finno-Ugric ones. If anyone can do this, you can."

"And if I come across Chinese?"

"Then we find someone who knows Chinese."

"You make it sound so simple," she muttered and glared at him when he laughed. "Just for that, I'm making you stay up with me tonight while I work on the transcript."

Lucas leant in close to whisper near her ear.

"I look forward to it."


	9. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia drink coffee. 
> 
> **MİT** is Turkey's secret service, the equivalent of MI5/MI6 or the CIA.

Lucas awoke to a bright ray of sunshine peeking in through the curtains, which was far more welcome than the crick in his neck. He was momentarily confused as to why he was leaning against the arm of the sofa, but when his gaze found Varinia's prone, still-sleeping form, he remembered.

They had indeed stayed up to work on the transcript, and Varinia had made progress with the chimaeric language. In addition to identifying the foundation languages for the loan words, she had also begun breaking down individual words, starting with the ones most often used. She'd identified articles and nouns, as well as tentatively figured out the syntax. All the while, Lucas brought her coffee and tea. But she had nevertheless fallen asleep beside her laptop, prompting him to move her to the couch.

He smiled slightly, recalling the previous night.

_"Well, I'll be damned. Fixed SOV," remarked Varinia, her unimpressed tone at odds with her words. "That's not predictable or anything."_

_Lucas looked up from his book, by now accustomed to the woman's epiphanies. He had already learnt an overwhelming amount of linguistic information, and now it seemed he would learn even more._

_"What's an SOV?"_

_She had been working for nearly three hours nonstop. He reckoned she deserved a break._

_"It's when a language follows the subject-object-verb word order," Varinia replied. "For example, 'Lucas a book reads'."_

_"Why is that predictable?"_

_"Because it's the most common word order, not to mention the one Russian uses." Lucas had an epiphany of his own when he realised that she was right. "Incidentally, Hungarian sometimes uses it, too."_

_"So what does that mean?"_

_She was silent for a moment, considering. Slowly, a frown formed on her face. "I don't really know yet."_

_"You said the base languages are Russian, Finno-Ugric, something Asian, German, and Turkish." The linguist nodded and pursed her lips. "Do all of those use fixed SOV?"_

_"Yes, except that random Finno-Ugric one," she said, exasperation evident in her voice. Sighing, she drained her fourth cup of coffee and slumped back in her chair. "It's not Finnish. It's not Hungarian. It's probably not Estonian, because that's similar to Finnish. So that leaves Mansi or Khanty, neither of which I speak."_

_"The Siberian tribes?" he checked._

_"Yup. I'm actually reading up on them right now, but I have no idea which one is used. For all I know, they could_ both _be used." Varinia picked up her mug again but groaned when she found it empty. "What's worse is that I'm not even sure the Finno-Ugric language is Mansi or Khanty at all. I only know that it's agglutinative."_

_Lucas gave her a blank look but didn't ask for clarification. She was exhausted and frustrated, with dark circles under her green eyes._

_"I would suggest going to sleep..." He trailed off, as he went into the kitchen to fill her cup with tea this time. "But you won't anyway."_

_"I'm sorry, Lucas. You don't need to be awake." She finally turned her full attention to him, watching his movements with a guilty expression. "It's nearly 5 AM. At least one of us should get some sleep."_

_He gave her a half-smile and placed the mug beside her notebook. "When I said I looked forward to staying up with you, I wasn't merely flirting." The half-smile turned into a half-smirk when she blushed. "Ever since Ros' death, missions have been solo affairs. So it's..." Lucas paused, hesitating, "...nice to have company again."_

_If Varinia suspected him of hiding something, she didn't show it. Instead, she flashed him a grateful smile and took a large gulp of her tea, before delving back into the weird world of linguistics._

Varinia shifted in her sleep, stretching out her legs, the tips of her toes nudging his thigh. Despite that Lucas had only slept three hours, they were a better three hours than all the sleep he had gotten over the past few months. After Sarah's betrayal, the memories and dreams of Lushanka had returned in full force, particularly at night and particularly on nights when he was alone. For all her quirks, Varinia was good for him, not only because her near-constant presence helped to distract him from darker thoughts.

The linguist shifted again, but this time to awaken. Lucas watched as she took stock of the situation, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

"Apparently, caffeine is completely useless to me."

"I'm sure it wouldn't have been, had I given you caffeinated coffee," he replied, with a small, amused smile. She huffed and glared at him, ready to complain. But Lucas headed her off. "If I hadn't switched your coffee halfway through, you would likely _still_ be awake, and with heart palpitations, too."

Varinia softened and sat up, the blanket pooling in her lap.

"In that case, thank you," she said, looking up at him shyly through her lashes. "I suppose I got a little carried away last night."

"Yes, but you also unraveled a lot of Chimaera."

"Not the content, though," she said. "And I don't think I can translate it on my own. The Finno-Ugric language aside, there's something in there that doesn't quite add up. It could be an Asian language, and if it is, I need help."

"We'll talk to Harry," he assured. Lucas stood and went into the kitchen. "You should sleep some more."

"So should you," Varinia said, following him. Her clothes from yesterday were rumpled, but she downed a glass of water before adjusting them. "And you're tilting your neck strangely. Sit."

Lucas did. Her hands were soft and small, as they settled on his shoulders. He allowed himself to relax against the chair back, feeling calmer than he had in months. While she massaged his neck and shoulders, she talked.

"Thank you for yesterday, by the way." Her fingers dug into his skin, kneading the stiff muscles. "You preserved a lot of my dignity by not leaving me to drool onto the table."

"You weren't drooling," he said quietly.

"Oh?" she remarked. "Well, thanks all the same."

"You're welcome. But I could've taken you to bed, now that I think about it." He paused. "To _your_ bed."

She giggled. "The sofa was fine." He winced when she prodded a particularly sore area. "For me, at least."

"I'd intended to go to bed..." _...but you looked so pretty asleep..._ "But I guess I dozed off."

"Sorry," she murmured sheepishly and trailed a finger across his nape.

Lucas turned his head to smile at her, trying not to grimace at the shooting pain in his neck. "Don't be sorry." He caught one of her hands and kissed it. "I'm not." His smile widened when her lips parted in surprise. She stared at him, seemingly unsure how to respond, but in the end, squeezed his hand.

They were silent after that, the only sound the din of the rushing cars outside. Varinia was touching him with soft strokes now, as though wanting to feel his skin beneath her palms. To Lucas' embarrassment, he found the brushes comforting, and his head began to tip forward, his eyes fluttering closed. He might have even made a noise in the back of his throat. But she didn't comment, merely continued her ministrations.

And spoke again.

"Should we call Harry soon?"

"Yeah, we'll call him." Pulling his mobile from his pocket, Lucas dialed, pressing the speaker option and placing the phone on the table. It rang three times before Harry answered.

_"Good morning, Lucas."_

"Morning, Harry."

"Morning!" Varinia chirped.

 _"I'm glad to hear you're both in such good spirits."_ The man's tone was weary, and they could hear Altan's voice in the background. The Turk didn't sound as cheerful as usual. _"I was just about to call you, actually."_

"Why? What's wrong?" asked Lucas, leaning forward. Varinia's hands dropped from his shoulders. "Did Tariq intercept another Chimaera message?"

 _"Chimaera message?"_ But Harry didn't give Lucas a chance to explain. _"It's Altan's friend. The M_ _İT have found his body."_

"Poor Altan," said Varinia. She sat down in the chair opposite Lucas', biting her bottom lip. "And they're sure it was the Russians?"

_"The abduction and...interrogation styles scream FSB. But Moscow denies involvement."_

"Of course it does," said Lucas scathingly. The linguist glanced at him, a question in her eyes. He ignored it. "Do they know that Kolesnikov is communicating with one of their Russians?"

 _"Marcus said yes, but he didn't mention whether or not they were aware of the content of those communications."_ They heard Ruth consoling Altan in the background. _"My guess is they aren't, since I assume Varinia hasn't yet decoded that...Chimaera language, you called it?"_

Lucas smirked. "Varinia's name for it."

 _"After the Greek monster. Fitting,"_ said Harry, momentarily sounding a little brighter. _"If the Turks ask for your help, Varinia, which I suspect they might, it would be prudent to acquiesce."_

"Of course," she affirmed. "I got through some of the message last night, but there are one or two languages that I'm not familiar with. If the Turks have a linguist who specialises in Asian languages, I would definitely make more progress."

"I could call Clive Bolton," Lucas suggested. "Sniff out how much he knows."

 _"Do that,"_ Harry agreed. _"But discreetly."_

"When have you ever known me _not_ to be discreet?" Lucas asked, feigning insult.

They could hear the smile in Harry's voice, as he replied, _"Careful, Lucas. Overconfidence is not a flattering quality."_

Varinia tried to stifle her giggles, but Lucas noticed them and nudged her knee with his. He was about to reply to Harry, when his phone's screen lit up with another call.

"Bolton's calling."

 _"Answer it,"_ said Harry. _"I'll wait."_

Lucas switched over, while Varinia poured them both a glass of orange juice. After their coffee and tea binge last night, she didn't think either one was in the mood for those beverages.

 _"Hello, Lucas,"_ greeted Clive. _"How are you this morning?"_

"Relaxed," he replied, smiling in Varinia's direction. "Does your asset have another lead for us?"

 _"No, but I was hoping you and Ms Erdélyi could come in anyway,"_ Clive said. _"There have been developments."_

Lucas understood the vague reference, as any spy would. He looked at Varinia, who nodded.

"We can be there in an hour." Switching back to Harry, he said, "Bolton's asked Varinia and me to come in. Something big has happened."

_"I wouldn't be surprised if it's the language."_

"How should I go about this, Harry?" inquired Varinia. She was trailing a finger along the rim of her empty glass, brows creasing slightly. "Should I be forthcoming? Or pretend I've never seen Chimaera before?"

 _"At this point, I would say be forthcoming, if questioned,"_ Harry replied. _"Six might bring in their own linguists, and the Turks definitely will, so your prior knowledge of the language will come out sooner or later."_

"Right, okay." Lucas saw the flash of irritation in her eyes. "Well, I'm going to hop in the shower, then. Thanks, Harry."

Lucas watched her leave, wondering what had caused her disgruntled expression. He finished his conversation with Harry and moved his neck back and forth, pleased that the stiffness had disappeared.

He thought about Varinia again, as he showered, and her small, soft hands.


	10. Body Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the plot is revealed, and Lucas and Varinia share...body language.

Clive was waiting in the lobby when Lucas and Varinia were admitted through security. He gave them a tense smile in greeting.

"Long night?"

Lucas glanced at Varinia, the dark circles prominent under her eyes. He imagined he looked equally tired.

"You could say that," she hedged.

Varinia must have sounded hesitant, because Clive looked from her to Lucas with a knowing and somewhat amused glint in his eyes. Lucas stepped closer to the linguist. Better the man thought they were involved, rather than hiding potentially significant information.

"You mentioned developments?" he prodded.

"Yes, follow me." Clive led them towards the lift, which took them up to the third floor. He ushered them into a medium-sized conference room, where a youngish Turkish woman was already sitting. She introduced herself a Damla, one of the Turkish secret service agents tasked with facilitating cooperation between MİT and MI6.

"We currently have an asset in Ardahan's main hospital's morgue," she explained. "And according to her reports, the situation there is getting worse. A third person has died suspiciously."

"Suspiciously?" Lucas repeated. "What is the cause of death listed?"

"Natural, like Eda's and the second victim's, who remains unnamed."

"Does your asset have access to the bodies?" Varinia asked.

"Yes, except the three linked to our mystery illness. Only the chief medical examiner has access to those." Damla smiled grimly. "Our asset has been working at the morgue for five years. She is often the first and last person to have contact with the bodies. This is the first time access to them has been restricted."

"What about the paperwork?" Lucas asked. "Has she seen the autopsy reports?"

"They're kept behind lock and key, as well," Damla replied, her smile turning rueful. "But there's more." She opened a folder and gave each of them a piece of paper. On it was Chimaera. "We've recently intercepted _this_ from some Russian FSB agents. Our initial assessment is that it might be some sort of code."

Lucas glimpsed Varinia from the corner of his eye. Her brows were furrowed, as she scanned the file. Play dumb until directly questioned, Harry had said. So that's what they did.

"FSB agents?" he questioned.

Damla looked at Lucas. "Our Russians have been talking to your Russians," she answered. "An FSB man in London named Mikhail Kolesnikov e-mailed an FSB man in Ankara named Boris Trotsky. That writing is a transcript of their conversation."

"We know about this," said Clive, glancing between Lucas and Varinia. "And I suspect MI5 does, too."

They were caught, but to her credit, Varinia was unabashed, as she said, "I don't think it's code. If it were, the code-breaking program would have found something by now."

Damla seemed surprised by the linguist's forthright statement. _Sharp_. That was how Lucas had described Varinia to Harry. And she was. Deceptively so.

"That's true," the MİT agent conceded. "Unless it's a new kind of code whose patterns are not recognized by the softwares."

"Or a language," Clive suggested. He looked pointedly at Varinia, but it was Lucas who spoke.

"We've seen this message before but only just recently."

"And?" Clive prompted. "Surely a polyglot such as yourself, Varinia, would have learned something about it."

Before she could look to Lucas for guidance, he took her hand beneath the table and gave it a little squeeze. Varinia squeezed back, grateful for the reassurance.

"Well, actually, I have." Releasing Lucas' hand to take out her notebook, she flipped a few pages and handed it to Clive. "That's all I have thus far."

The MI6 agent read through her notes, then passed the book to Damla. "No wonder you had a long night," he remarked.

"You list Turkish as one of the component languages," noted Damla. "Why?"

"Vocabulary, mostly," Varinia replied. "But I've only just begun to deconstruct the amalgamation. And I've already hit a snag."

"Asian," murmured Clive.

The linguist nodded. "I've never traveled farther east than Turkey, so I haven't learned any of the Asian languages."

"But you still believe at least one of them is used in this...Chimaera?" Damla's lips twitched. "That's an appropriate name, all things considered."

"The terrible beast of Greek mythology defeated by Bellerophon," added Clive, with a chuckle.

Lucas took Varinia's hand again, linking their fingers together this time. He enjoyed the way she faltered slightly in her reply.

"I think so, yes," she said.

Damla passed back Varinia's notebook and typed something into her mobile.

"Clive, if you'll provide the premises, we'll provide the missing linguists." She regarded Varinia with a small smile. "If you're willing to continue working on this, of course."

"I'm willing," the redhead affirmed.

"This will only work if we have open communication," advised Clive, giving each of them a measured glance. "MI6 with MI5 with MİT."

"Certainly," Damla acquiesced.

Although Varinia also agreed, Lucas felt her tense slightly beside him.

#

It was nearly three in the morning when Lucas and Varinia stumbled into the flat, shucking their shoes off haphazardly by the door. She collapsed onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oh, no you don't," Lucas said, standing over the linguist. "I am not sleeping here again."

"I won't fall asleep," she grumbled but closed her eyes anyway. They flew open with a yelp, as Lucas picked her up to carry her into her bedroom. "I have legs, you know."

"Yes, I know," he replied, his lips twitching in amusement. "A very fine pair, too."

She blushed and changed the subject. "Damla's pretty take-charge, don't you think?"

Lucas went along with the topic change, despite his temptation to tell...or show...Varinia what else he found alluring about her.

"Sort of reminds me of Ros," he remarked. He set her down carefully, watching as she adjusted her skirt. "But you held your own, too, especially when it came to Chimaera."

"Well, I have a bit of a head start with it," Varinia said. She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a t-shirt and shorts. Lucas edged towards the door, but she made no move to undress yet. "I confess, though, that I was nervous about working with the other linguists."

Lucas sat down beside her on the bed. "I noticed," he said softly. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I guess it's because I don't have a degree in any of my languages."

"But you know more languages than they do."

"Yeah, but they're experts in them, aren't they?" Varinia sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I get over it, but at first, it's always a bit daunting."

Lucas didn't think before he kissed the top of her head. He froze, waiting for a reaction, but when none came, he said, "You handled it well, Varinia. I doubt anyone even noticed you were nervous."

"You did."

"Only because I felt you tense up."

As she snaked her hand beneath his, however, she was completely relaxed. Perhaps it was the softness of her skin or the warmth of her small body against his that prompted him to tilt up her chin and press his lips to hers. Varinia responded immediately, kissing him back willingly if a tad too gently. But he didn't deepen it, not yet.

When they broke apart, he gazed into her eyes, noticing not for the first time just how green they were. She stared back at him, confident, no blush staining her cheeks, and he kissed her again. This time, he _did_ deepen it, sliding his tongue over her bottom lip until she granted it access. She tasted of mint and pomegranate chap stick, and he reveled in it. Her arms wrapped around his neck, while he tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her closer.

Lucas didn't think about Sarah or about Lushanka or even about the repercussions of their actions. Lowering Varinia onto the pillows, his only thought was _her_.


	11. Working Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot of plot, but a whole lot of Lucas+Varinia. 
> 
> First half of chapter edited. Now rated **M**.

Lucas supposed it was inevitable that he and Varinia should sleep together. After all, he had been attracted to her from the moment she had walked onto the Grid, in her pencil skirt and high heels. That attraction had merely increased once he'd interacted with her. Though they didn't always see eye-to-eye, there existed a mutual respect. Each possessed skills and qualities that the other lacked, making their professional partnership, at least, a harmonious one.

But what of their personal partnership? Whatever their relationship had been before Lucas had kissed Varinia would change now. Looking at the woman sleeping beside him, he wondered what it was that he wanted. Since Sarah, he had eschewed romantic attachments, but the linguist was nothing like the blonde American. She would not betray him, for one, but neither would a relationship with her be quite as thrilling. Perhaps he needed a less volatile existence. Perhaps he needed peace. Varinia offered both of those and more. There was something about her that made her appear younger than her twenty-nine years, a youthful, childlike quality Lucas had lost a long time ago. He realised that was one of the things he liked best about her. She was still unjaded and open; he could read her expressions like a book. And that was reassuring, when one dealt in lies for a living.

Varinia shifted, rolling over to pillow her head upon his shoulder. He glanced at the clock. 5.47 AM. He hadn't slept at all, and it looked as though he wouldn't, either. Now that their sweat-slicked skin had cooled and their lust had been slaked, his mind exploded with thoughts. The sex had been remarkable, Varinia's body pliant above and beneath his. She was beautiful in her pleasure and generous in her reciprocation. He felt himself stirring at the memory of her moans, of her back arching off the bed, of her flesh sliding against his. Instinctively, he wrapped an arm around her middle, slowly stroking from ribs to hip. She shifted again, but this time, to awaken.

Sleepy, green eyes blinked up at him, as she tried to suppress a yawn.

"How long have you been awake?"

He looked down at her with a fond smile.

"Not long," he lied. Varinia didn't need to know that she was the reason he couldn't sleep. "We've still got a few hours before we need to go in. You should go back to sleep."

"And you?" she asked, slinging a leg over his thigh. The motion brought her closer, so that her breasts brushed against his torso. His cock twitched with renewed interest.

"I will, too," he said, lying again. Even if he could have slept before, he _definitely_ couldn't now.

"Or..." she mused aloud, "we could repeat our previous activities."

Although her face was half-hidden in his shoulder, Lucas nevertheless glimpsed her mischievous smile. And just in case her meaning wasn't clear, Varinia snaked a hand to his groin, resting it just above his cock, which was growing by the second. Not so long ago, he might have thought her demure. But not anymore.

"I'm amenable to that," he said huskily and shifted her to lie atop him.

Her core grazed his pubic bone, pulling a gasp from her lips. The throbbing heat against his skin sent his arousal spiraling higher, until he could no longer resist kissing her. Whereas before he was gentle and driven by affection, now Lucas captured her mouth with a ferocity prompted by Varinia's initiative. He wanted her, and she wanted him, and once again, he tossed the repercussions out the window.

She pulled away to settle onto his lap, bent knees on either side of his thighs, as Lucas' hands rested on her hips. Varinia watched him, seeing her lust reflected in his eyes, feeling him grow ever harder beneath her. Then she braced her hands on his chest and moved her hips, rubbing against his erection. His breath caught in his throat.

"Don't tease," he growled, but despite his command, he gripped her thighs to help with her undulations.

"No?" she questioned, leaning down to whisper against his lips. "Then what would you have me do?"

Lucas lifted her so that the head of his cock just barely breached her folds.

"This," he replied, his voice dropping in pitch.

Varinia obliged, sinking down onto him in one, smooth swing of her hips. She threw her head back, her moan echoing his groan, her pelvis meeting his. After allowing herself a moment to adjust, she began moving atop him with slow, deep strokes. His hips thrust up, gently at first, then building in force as Varinia increased the pace. Lucas relinquished control, content to feel her tight heat clench around him.

She leaned forward, changing the angle of penetration, and gave a gasping moan. His cockhead had speared that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending intense pleasure shooting through her. Varinia rode him faster, breasts bouncing enticingly, until Lucas could not resist cupping them. His thumbs circled her nipples, and she clenched around him. He choked on a moan and bucked up hard, bringing her closer and closer to release. Feeling her body tense, he used two fingers on her clit, and that was all it took. Varinia bowed forward and cried out, the spasms around his cock hastening his own orgasm. Lucas thrust once, twice, before he pulled her down and came with a grunt.

A hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and he kissed her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, his tongue sliding along hers. Still not recovered from their high, they exchanged panted breaths, their hearts thudding against the other's chest. When they broke apart, Lucas stroked Varinia's cheek, his throat constricting slightly at her sleepy, blissful smile. Sarah had never looked like that after sex, so unreservedly open and almost _innocent_. She had always hidden something from him, whether it was her involvement in Nightingale or simply her feelings for him.

But Varinia... She didn't think twice about allowing him to see her.

He kissed her again, more softly this time, because she deserved tenderness after that fucking. Lucas also wondered briefly if there might not have been another, more meaningful reason behind the gesture. But he was prevented from deeper contemplation when Varinia stroked his chest. He glanced down at her, surprised to find her observing him. She looked as though she wanted to ask a question, then apparently thought better of it and moved off of him.

"I know you haven't slept yet," she remarked, lying on her side with her back facing him. "The lines around your eyes are more pronounced than usual."

Lucas laid behind her, cocooning her body within his. "Thanks for pointing out my wrinkles," he murmured.

"They're laugh lines," she corrected, craning her neck to look at him. Though she was grinning, a finger gently brushed the corner of his eye. "I like them."

"Well, that's a benefit," he replied. "Because you'll have to see them for a bit longer, I'm afraid."

Varinia laughed. "You make that sound like a bad thing." She turned away from him and yawned. "I confess I was a bit worried at first to be working with you, but now I realise that was stupid."

"Likewise," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Sleep now. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

"But you'll sleep, too, won't you?"

"Yeah," he assured. "I'll sleep."

Whether or not that was a lie, Lucas didn't know.

#

The team of linguists had made astonishing progress with Chimaera, managing to unravel much of the conversation. In it, Kolesnikov confirmed everyone's worst fears. The Russians were responsible for the illness in Ardahan. Precisely what that sickness was, though, they did not yet know. With this new information, the Turkish government had acquired the three bodies and were currently running tests on them to identify the disease. Anyone who had come in close contact with the victims, while living and dead, were quietly quarantined. Until the nature of the plot was revealed, the Turks were keen to minimise knowledge of it.

The linguists worked like code-breakers, compiling a key with grammar and vocabulary. They still did not fully understand Chimaera, but they were close. The Finno-Ugric component was the missing link, though Varinia, who was a native speaker of an Ugric language, had nearly cracked that.

"It can only be Mansi," she declared.

After days of living with her, Lucas had grown accustomed to her random comments. He was sitting on the sofa beside her, updating Harry on what they had learned. Since their last conversation, Tariq had intercepted more phone calls between Kolesnikov and Moscow, but they were all in regular code, instead of in the invented language. They were, nonetheless, foreboding, because the Russians seemed confident that their plan was proceeding according to schedule. There had been no mention of expanding it to England...yet..., but with Kolesnikov still stationed in London, that was a worrying probability.

"You've figured it out, then?"

"I have," Varinia replied. She showed him a page in her notebook, pointing to the fifth sentence down. By now, Lucas recognised Chimaera, but the sentence was not in Chimaera. "This is Mansi. It's actually fairly similar to Hungarian, because there are mutually intelligible words, in addition to it being agglutinative." He gave her a blank look, so she added, "Agglutinative just means that words are formed by stringing morphemes together." By now, he also understood what morphemes were.

"These are the root words," she explained, indicating them. "And these are the agglutinated words. Look at the affixes attached to the root words."

Lucas did and saw that she had created a chart comparing Chimaera's agglutinative words with Mansi's.

"They're nearly identical to Chimaera's." He stared at her, and she stared back, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. "You've cracked it, Varinia."

"Well, I had lots of help," she demurred. "Without Kerem, I probably still wouldn't have figured out the Chinese influence."

"You might have," he said. "You figured out the Mansi influence."

"Only because I speak Hungarian, which turned out to be useful, for once." She sighed and opened the document on her laptop containing her notes on Chimaera. "If every message is going to take this long to translate, we'll always be one step behind the Russians."

"It might not be just the Russians," Lucas said ominously.

She glanced at him, frowning. "You think other nations are involved, too?"

"Well, it stands to reason, since Chimaera is made up of so many different languages."

"Jesus," Varinia breathed. "This is a lot worse than I imagined. We're talking about an international terrorist organisation."

He nodded. "And if the Russians are working with the Chinese..."

She blanched. "Then we're screwed." Another thought occurred to her. "But if it's just the Russians and Chinese, why are German, Turkish, and Mansi included in Chimaera, as well?"

"Tariq and Damla are looking into that," Lucas replied. "More than likely, though, each language has representatives."

Varinia sighed again. "I should've stuck with translating books." She jested, but Lucas noticed the flash of fear in her eyes. With good reason, he thought, for she had helped to uncover a huge, multinational terrorist group with a fatal disease at its disposal.

"Maybe," Lucas agreed. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Before she could ask what he intended to do, Lucas leant down and kissed her. He had caught her off guard, but she responded quickly, placing her hand on his cheek and kissing him back. When he pulled away, she was watching him with a contemplative expression.

"Isn't there a rule that colleagues shouldn't..." She trailed off, choosing her words carefully, "...be involved sexually?"

"Not unless their working relationship is affected." But Varinia didn't look convinced. "If you would prefer, we can stop the sex."

"No! That's not what I meant," she insisted. His lips twitched in amusement. "I just don't want to come home to a scolding from Harry and Marcus."

"You won't," he assured. "I'm very good at being discreet."

She laughed. "Well, I should hope so, since it's your job."

He kissed her again, effectively silencing her giggles. As Varinia's arms wrapped around his neck to pull him atop her, Lucas considered that perhaps the spunky linguist was the Universe's answer to his previous, failed relationships.


	12. Plague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardahan's mystery disease is finally revealed.

Septicaemic plague. It sounded like something out of history, because it _was_ something out of history. In the modern world, people in developed countries simply didn't contract the plague, especially not the rare septicaemic variant. But the lab results were unequivocally clear. Eda Büyük and the other two victims had died of septicaemic plague.

As soon as Lucas was informed, he'd called Harry, who had requested the presence of Dr Gallagher, an infectious disease specialist. Over speakerphone, Lucas and Varinia could hear the disbelief in her voice.

 _"Septicaemic plague?"_ questioned the doctor. _"Are you sure?"_

"Well, the Turkish bacteriologists are," Lucas answered.

"They ran the tests six times, because they couldn't believe it either," added Varinia. "I've never heard of septicaemic plague. How does it compare to bubonic and pneumonic plague?"

 _"It attacks the blood, causing septicaemia, hence its name,"_ Dr Gallagher said. _"It's much rarer than the other two forms, but it's also more fatal."_

 _"How is it transmitted?"_ Harry asked.

 _"The same way that bubonic and pneumonic plague are,"_ Dr Gallagher replied. _"Through direct contact with infected bodily fluids, whether orally or topically."_

"But the latter two decedents didn't have any contact with the first," pointed out Varinia.

"Then they were deliberately infected," Lucas deduced grimly.

 _"That's a possibility,"_ agreed the infectious disease specialist. _"But that person would need to have had medical access to all three victims."_

 _"And did he?"_ Harry prompted.

Lucas and Varinia exchanged a wary glance.

"Yes, it seems like it," Varinia answered. "All three victims had previously gone in for a routine check-up, which included a flu shot."

 _"Then it's likely the bacteria was in the vaccine itself,"_ mused Dr Gallagher. _"Has anyone else received it?"_

"We don't know yet," Lucas replied. "Turkish authorities are currently investigating that, as well as who the physician responsible was," he explained. "But he or she definitely used false credentials."

 _"Those who came in contact with the bodies are quarantined, are they not?"_ Harry asked.

"They are," Lucas affirmed. "Is there any other way to transmit the disease?"

 _"Certainly,"_ said Dr Gallagher. Her tone was ominous as she continued. _"The three cases in Ardahan are more akin to experiments than to outright bioterrorism. But that doesn't mean something worse isn't coming. If they engineer the bacteria to be extra virulent or antibiotic-resistant, we could have a serious problem."_

 _"An epidemic?"_ Harry inquired.

 _"Initially, yes."_ Dr Gallagher hesitated, and when she spoke next, her voice was strained. _"And then perhaps a pandemic, depending on the mode of transmission."_

"Even with quarantine?" Lucas asked, shocked.

 _"Of course,"_ the doctor replied. _"If the bacteria is in aerosol form, all the terrorists have to do is release it into the air, and millions or even billions could become infected."_

"Oh my God," Varinia breathed, covering her mouth with her hand.

Lucas glanced at her and saw the fear in her eyes. He felt it, too.

"What can we do?"

 _"Nothing,"_ said Dr Gallagher. _"For now, they're still testing the bacteria, but the Turks should keep a better eye on medical professionals and equipment. They should also stock up on many different types of antibiotics."_

Lucas arched a brow, though the infectious disease specialist couldn't see the motion.

"I doubt whoever injected those people with the plague will come back for more."

 _"Not likely, no,"_ Harry agreed. _"Nevertheless, Lucas, I would prefer if you and Varinia returned to London. There is nothing else you can do there."_

Varinia glanced sharply at Lucas, about to protest. But he shook his head.

"Understood," the spy said. "I'll call you when we have a flight booked." Lucas hung up and observed Varinia, before he touched her shoulder, allowing his fingers to linger. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but it was best that you didn't mention Chimaera."

Her brows rose in surprise. "How could you possibly know what I was going to say?"

He gave her a half-smile and stroked her bare arm. "You're a linguist."

"I'm that predictable, huh?" she said, laughing.

"In this case, yes," Lucas replied. "But just as it's in your nature to understand languages, it's in mine to understand people."

Although, he thought bitterly, he had failed rather spectacularly with Sarah.

"Right, how could I forget?" she quipped, with a faint smile. "Why was it best I didn't mention Chimaera? Does Harry not trust Dr Gallagher?"

"He does," Lucas said. "But Chimaera is above her clearance, as is the involvement of the Russians."

Varinia nodded. "Yes, I noticed you and Harry were vague about that, too." She sighed, as she closed her laptop and stood. "I suppose I should go pack, then." She moved towards her bedroom, but Lucas caught her wrist.

"How would you feel about taking a trip to Istanbul?"

Her face brightened, and Lucas couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"You have no idea how much I'd like that," she grinned, wrapping her arms around his waist and looking up at him. "How long would we be there? Because there are so many places I want to show you."

"A couple days, at most," he replied, regretting that they didn't have more time. "I don't think the world can spare a polyglot now."

Varinia's cheeks colored, as Lucas knew they would. She was completely comfortable having sex with him, but compliments still made her blush. He felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her, so he did, smiling against her lips when her hands fisted into his shirt.

"When, uh, are we leaving?" she asked, once they had separated. He suppressed a smile. The kiss had caught her off-guard.

"Whenever you're ready," he replied. "I'm sure there are multiple trains running between Ankara and Istanbul."

"There are," she affirmed, then grinned. "I love traveling by train."

"I know," he said. "On the flight over, you lamented that there wasn't a bullet train between London and Ankara."

"Yeah..." she murmured. "I really hate flying."

She looked and sounded so sheepish that he wanted to laugh. But he didn't.

"Yes, I realised that when you clutched your book during takeoff." Varinia averted her gaze, embarrassed, but glanced at him again as he took her hand. "I think that book deserves a break, don't you?"

Lucas brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"I believe my book would like that very much."


	13. Beautiful Sights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia's Turkish holiday is cut short, but there's flirting at 36,000 feet.

Lucas and Varinia were just exiting the Hagia Sofia, when his mobile rang.

"It's Harry," he said and hesitated before answering it. He knew that if he did,  their Turkish holiday would be cut short. "Hi, Harry."

Varinia led him to a secluded area by the ancient ruins of the original Christian church, watching in concern as the spy's expression grew increasingly grave. She waited impatiently, but to her relief, the conversation was brief.

"We need to get back to London as soon as possible," Lucas announced. "There's been another Chimaera message."

She followed him down the street, nearly jogging to keep up with his pace.

"That's not all, though," she observed. Lucas didn't respond, but the way his gaze flitted about their surroundings was confirmation enough. There was indeed more news, and it was significant enough not to risk speaking of it in the open.

They reached their hotel and ordered a taxi to the airport, while they gathered their belongings. The trip was mostly quiet, broken only by the radio and the buzzing of Varinia's phone. She looked down at the screen. There was a text from Lucas containing three words:

_Sept in China_

She glanced at him sharply, the alarm in her eyes betraying her otherwise calm exterior. Septicaemic plague was in China. She did not yet know the mode or number of victims, but the implications were nevertheless terrifying, because they meant that the trial runs in Ardahan had not been an isolated event. The terrorists were moving.

Varinia opened her mouth to say something, but Lucas gripped her hand, silencing her. So she typed her reply instead. 

_How many?_

Varinia's mobile vibrated.

_Unsure. Maybe 2_

There were many more questions she wanted to ask him, but judging by how short his phone call with Harry had been, Lucas probably didn't know much either. So for now, she tried not to think about the recent developments. Besides, another, more pressing worry commanded her attention. That of flying.

When they boarded the plane, Lucas was true to his word. At the start of the takeoff roll, he took Varinia's hand and didn't release it until the seat belt signs were turned off, indicating the plane had reached cruising altitude.

"Thank you," she said, with a grateful smile.

The threat of a plague epidemic loomed in his mind, but her smile momentarily dulled it.

"I was merely sparing the book," he replied.

"Of course," she said, her grin widening. "You like books, then?"

"I do," he affirmed. "I was an avid reader when I was younger."

"But you're not anymore?"

"I would be, if I had the time." Lucas gave her a wry smile. "This is actually the first vacation I've had in years."

Varinia suppressed a giggle. Stalking government officials and discovering an international terror plot weren't exactly what she would call a vacation. But their cover had to be maintained even now.

"And your verdict?"

"The food was good," he said casually. His gaze trailed over her figure, before settling on her face. "And the sights were beautiful."

"Yeah, they were," Varinia nodded. "Particularly the nighttime sights."

His lips twitched at her double meaning. Lucas couldn't remember the last time he had flirted.

"Mmm," he rumbled in agreement. "And the morning sights." She looked down, but to her credit and his surprise, a blush did not stain her cheeks. He smiled. "I wouldn't mind seeing some of those sights again."

Her gaze met his, and something akin to desire flashed in her eyes.

"That can be arranged," Varinia said smoothly.

Lucas grinned, eager to be off this plane, despite the grim circumstances of their return to England. He could never have imagined how much he would enjoy working with the linguist.

#

Upon landing in London, they took a taxi straight to Thames House. Harry, Ruth, and Tariq were waiting for them when they arrived.

"Lucas, Varinia, it's good have you back," said Harry, ushering them into the office. He handed Varinia a sheet of paper. "That's the most recent message Tariq intercepted from Kolesnikov."

"Who was the recipient?" Lucas asked, glancing at the now-familiar language over her shoulder. Varinia had already begun translating it, spreading out her laptop and notebooks on a desk.

"Still working on that," the tech whizz replied. "But whoever it is, he or she is definitely not in Turkey."

"China?" Lucas suggested.

"It's possible," Ruth said. "Especially since there's a suspected case of the plague in the Yunnan province."

"Suspected?"

Ruth pulled up a report in Chinese, with various characters highlighted.

"After the disease was confirmed in Ardahan, Six advised the embassy in Beijing to be on alert for people falling ill after receiving a flu shot," she answered. "A young girl and her mother, who both received the vaccine, have been admitted to a health center in a small town near Dali."

Varinia had been translating the transcript, but that caught her attention. She looked up at Ruth, aghast.

"They're experimenting on _children_ now?"

"We aren't certain," the other woman clarified. "The two patients could simply be suffering from side effects of the vaccine."

"Possible, but unlikely," Lucas said tersely. Then he softened. "They're terrorists, Varinia. They don't discriminate between their targets."

"I know," she sighed. "Sometimes I just forget the terrible things people are capable of."

Not for the first time, Lucas sympathised with the linguist. This wasn't the world she was accustomed to, despite having previously worked for MI6. She had never before encountered such an insidious threat. But neither had Lucas--not a biological one, at least. Chemical and nuclear plots, certainly, but not bioterrorism.

Ruth placed a hand on Varinia's shoulder. "That's a good thing," she assured her.

Harry looked as though he wanted to disagree, but he continued the briefing instead.

"Key people in the Chinese government have also been notified about what happened in Ardahan."

"Can they be trusted?" Lucas asked.

"Six seems to think so," Harry replied. "And I certainly hope so, as they're the ones with enough authority to sanction the necessary preventative measures and surveillance."

"Even so, it won't be easy," Ruth pointed out.

"China's huge," Tariq agreed.

"Which is why the contents of the messages are so important," remarked Harry, glancing at Varinia. "How's it coming?"

"There's no mention of China yet," she said. "But it'll take me a while to get through it, because there are words I've never seen before."

"I could input Chimaera into the computer and create a dictionary of sorts," Tariq offered. "So that as you decode more of it, you'd have everything in one program."

"That would help," Varinia said, looking relieved. She smiled sheepishly. "I already have about a hundred pages of notes that really aren't very organised."

After watching her work in Ankara, Lucas could attest to that. He had listened to countless mumbled curses as she flipped through her notebook, searching for the information she needed. Lucas turned his head to hide the smirk threatening to form, and when he returned his attention to her, he saw that she looked pensive.

"What if the languages in Chimaera are the clue?" The others looked at her with inquisitive expressions, so Varinia continued. "To where the disease will strike next," she explained. "It started in Turkey and has potentially moved on to China, which means Russia may be next, followed by Germany."

Harry regarded her with a mix of interest and surprise.

"You're suggesting that they're experimenting geographically based on the languages included in Chimaera?"

Varinia shrugged. "I don't know. It's just an idea."

"But you might be right," said Ruth. "If there's a pattern, and we know it, we have a better chance of stopping the experiments."

"Sure," agreed Lucas, though he sounded skeptical. "But the organisation _must_ be planning something bigger than a few contaminated flu shots. It has its own bloody language, after all."

"And the main event may not conform to the pattern," Harry concluded. "But this is a start. As the terrorists are testing the waters, so, too, are we." He turned to the team and addressed each member. "Ruth, contact Marcus. Someone will need to share our theory with Moscow and Berlin. Tariq, keep the channels open. We need to know exactly what's happening in China. Lucas, see if you can learn something from our FSB friends, but discreetly. And Varinia-"

"Translate the message," she interrupted and smiled indulgently. "I'm on it, Harry."

The head of Section D nodded. "Do you need a Chinese interpreter?"

"Nope," she chirped. "Chimaera's architects mercifully only used Chinese for style, not for actual vocabulary. My notes from Kerem, the Chinese expert in Ankara, should suffice."

Everyone went to their respective tasks and were quickly absorbed in them. As Lucas walked towards the lift, his hand surreptitiously brushed Varinia's. Although her face remained impassive, her gaze followed his exit, her eyes hidden behind strawberry-blonde hair.

No one noticed the brief interaction.


	14. Unwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hard day's work, Lucas and Varinia unwind. Rated M.

Lucas couldn't remember the last time he had left the Grid at a reasonable hour. The team liaised, monitored, and translated until three in the morning, but only Varinia had made any real progress. Lucas' questions to the Russians yielded very little useful information. Apparently, they had been completely ignorant to Kolesnikov's plot, or so they kept insisting. But now that they knew, they would monitor him, sending two agents to observe his comings and goings. Lucas doubted the FSB would discover anything significant. Tariq hadn't, except that Kolesnikov always visited internet cafés shortly before sending or receiving a Chimaera message. He did not communicate his organisation's plans for an epidemic at home, that much was obvious. But otherwise, the rogue Russian lived an uninteresting life.

"He doesn't even go to strip clubs," Lucas remarked, as he and Varinia were driving back to her flat.

She arched a brow. "You sound disappointed."

"Surprised," he corrected and turned onto her street. "Every Russian baddie I've tailed in the past liked his strip clubs. Something was always done at them."

"Yes, I bet."

Pulling up to her building, Lucas gave her a pointed glance.

"Besides that," he said, half-amused and half-exasperated. "Usually they met at strip clubs to discuss their plans." He watched Varinia unbuckle her seat belt and gather her things. "Promise me you won't go upstairs and continue working on the translation."

"I won't," she assured but looked away guiltily. He knew she had intended to plug away at it until she'd finished.

"Varinia," he said, leaning over the center console. "You'll burn out if you don't sleep."

"Maybe, but this message is a little more important than getting my recommended eight hours," she said dryly.

Lucas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What am I to do with you?"

"Well, I've a few ideas." The suggestive note in her voice drew his attention. "After all, you _did_ mention that you were interested in seeing the sights again."

"I did," he agreed.

She opened the door and got out, glancing back at him over her shoulder, her suitcase forgotten in the boot. He followed, barely remembering to lock the car, and kissed her as soon as they entered her flat. It was dark, but he didn't much care what her furniture or wall color looked like. They stumbled through the foyer, clumsily toeing off their shoes and shucking their coats. When he mouthed at her neck, Varinia pulled away.

"Shower," she said brusquely, taking his hand and leading him into what he presumed to be her bedroom.

Only once they reached the bathroom did she turn on a light, allowing him the first clear glimpse of her home. Her shower was larger than his, which was just as well, considering they were about to have sex in it. Or he hoped they were.

"Christ," she murmured, staring at her reflection in the mirror. "I see now why you told me to sleep."

He looked at her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was paler than usual, but she was still lovely.

"We'll sleep," he said, moving closer to her. Lucas reached behind her and switched on the shower. "But first we should wash." He kissed her again, while his fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it over her shoulders. She mirrored his actions, until they were both naked, their clothes in a pile by their feet. He guided her under the spray, watching as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back. If he hadn't already been hard, the sight of the water trailing over her breasts would have done the trick.

He reached for her, his hands settling on her waist. She jumped, startled by his touch, and opened her eyes.

"Sorry," he murmured and kissed her a third time. Her hands rested on his forearms, as she stood on her tiptoes to reach his lips. When they separated, she picked up the shampoo bottle, which he took from her. "Let me."

Varinia raised her eyebrows, then turned around. Lucas poured some of the shampoo into his hand and worked it through her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp. Her head fell back, and had the sound of the water hitting the tiled floor not been so loud, he would have heard her soft sigh of pleasure. She had experienced quite a few firsts with Lucas, including having a lover wash her hair for her.

When he had finished, she eyed the spy with a contemplative expression.

"Turn around and get on your knees."

His lips twitched, and he did as he was told. But Lucas stiffened when he heard her gasp. For one careless moment, he had forgotten about the tattoo on his back.

"Onion domes," she said softly. Her fingers traced the markings slowly, sending a shiver down his spine. "Eight of them."

"Russia," he bit out, more harshly than he had intended.

Varinia flinched but didn't stop touching the tattoo.

"Lucas, what happened?"

He scowled at the sadness in her voice. She obviously suspected what the onion domes symbolised.

"Why ask if you already know?"

"Because I _don't_ know," she replied. "Not for sure anyway. I'm new to the world of spies, remember?"

He sighed and stood, facing her. Varinia gazed up at him, and he was relieved to see no pity in her eyes. Sympathy, yes, but that he could stomach better.

"I was captured while on a mission in Moscow," he explained. "Inevitably, I found myself in a Russian prison."

"Eight onion domes for eight years," she said, understanding. A finger traced the tattoo on his chest. "And the others?"

"More souvenirs," said Lucas tonelessly. After two years of being released, he had mostly gotten past the anger. "That one is William Blake's _Ancient of Days_."

"That's right. You mentioned you were a fan of his."

He nodded. "We see...eye-to-eye on things."

"A distrust of systems," she said, remembering. "Including and especially governments."

He gave her a half-smile. "It's a common pathology among spies."

Varinia hummed in agreement and trailed her hand lower to the tattoo beneath his belly button.

"What's this one?"

" _Gnothi seauton_ ," he answered. "It means 'know thyself' in Ancient Greek."

"And do you?"

"Yes," he affirmed, bringing his head down towards hers. "But I'd like to know _you_ better."

Lucas suspected Varinia had more questions, but she nevertheless accepted and returned his kiss. He wanted to tell her everything--about Darshavin, the interrogations, his recovery, and even the mediocre food--, but after Sarah, he was wary of any social interaction that rendered him vulnerable. That was why he enjoyed his relationship with the linguist. It was simple. They ate and laughed and fucked. But little did Lucas know, the physical intimacy was slowly seeping deeper.

He backed her against the wall, hands roaming over her body. His mouth moved to her neck, while he cupped her breasts, kneading them and flicking his thumbs over her nipples. She arched into him and pulled his hips closer, seeking more contact. His cock, which had softened during their tattoo-talk, now stood fully erect and curved towards his belly. Lucas jerked when Varinia wrapped a hand around it, stroking up from base to tip. He groaned when her thumb brushed over the frenulum, before it circled the glans.

Any further sounds were muffled against her flesh, as he suckled first one breast, then the other. His mouth moved lower, kissing a path down her stomach, until he was once again kneeling in front of her. Coaxing her thighs apart, Lucas stroked over her folds and was pleased to find she was already slick. She gasped when he hitched a leg over his shoulder and covered her core with his mouth, tasting her. His tongue briefly dipped into her, then moved towards her clit to prod the engorged organ. He looked up at Varinia. Her head was against the wall, reddish-blonde hair hanging wetly around her face, her eyes open and dark with desire. She met his gaze, and he chose that moment to push a finger into her, crooking it to find her other pleasure point. The moan that escaped her lips went straight to his cock. It twitched and throbbed, but he ignored it.

While his mouth worked her clit, Lucas added a second finger, thrusting faster and harder as her breaths became pants. Varinia bucked her hips, her fingers in his hair, and with a final suck to her clit, she came with a shuddering moan. He steadied her with his free hand on her hip and pulled off the sensitive flesh, wiping her fluids from his chin.

"Well, that's one way to unwind after a long day at the office," she quipped.

Lucas grinned up at her and rose to his feet. "The best way, in my opinion."

"Agreed," she said, pulling his head down for a kiss.

The height difference required him to bend down and Varinia to stand on her tiptoes, so Lucas cupped her buttocks and lifted her, pinning her body between his and the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, clinging to him as their tongues met. When she rubbed her core against his erection, Lucas shifted her weight into one hand to grip it and guide it to her entrance.

With their lips still touching, Varinia swallowed his groan and he her moan, as he slid into her easily. By now, the water was barely even tepid, but neither noticed, because they were enveloped in each other's heat. Both hands supporting her, Lucas pulled out slowly and thrust back in, watching her eyes grow impossibly darker. The light green was nearly completely eclipsed by black, and he imagined his blue looked the same.

As their pace increased, Varinia's legs tightened around him, and he hoisted her a bit higher, changing the angle just enough that her breath hitched in pleasure. She clenched around him like a vise, wrenching an embarrassingly loud moan from his lips. It only seemed to encourage her, however, for his cockhead was squeezed again, sending a warmth to pool in his groin. With each thrust, they spiraled higher, until Lucas felt spasms around his erection and heard Varinia cry out. Unable to hold off any longer, he followed after three short, rhythmless bucks of his hips, spilling into her with his grunt muffled in her neck.

In the post-coital limbo, she held him to her, neither aware of much besides the frenzied beating of their hearts and the slowly dissipating thrill of orgasm. They remained like that for minutes, trying to regain their breath. When they had, Lucas kissed her softly and set her down, ensuring she was steady on her feet before releasing her.

"The water's cold," she complained, shying away from the spray.

He chuckled and turned the tap towards 'hot.'

"I guess we'll have to wash quickly, then."

She kissed his chest, in the center of the Blake tattoo, and opened the shampoo bottle.

"Well, _my_ hair's already done, thanks to you," she said. "But yours isn't." Lucas took the hint and got to his knees for a third time that night. "Your hair's going to smell like violet. I hope you don't mind."

He smiled as she lathered the shampoo into his hair, giving his scalp the same massage as he had given hers. Had Lucas' brain not been flooded by endorphins and oxytocin, it might have communicated to him the remarkable fact that he stood beneath the full shower spray without even a hint of unease, let alone his usual trepidation.

Whether the spy knew it or not, the damage Sarah's betrayal had wrought upon his recovery was slowly beginning to mend.


	15. The Cleansers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff in the beginning, plot towards the end. My head is swimming from everything that happens in this chapter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't claim to be an expert in espionage or in microbiology, but I did my best with the research I found.

" _Dum spiro, spero_ ," Varinia read softly, a finger tracing the letters. "While I live, I hope."

Lying on his stomach, Lucas craned his neck to look at her. She was staring at his back, her bottom lip between her teeth. Lucas knew she was thinking, and he could guess about what.

"Tattooing's part of the culture there," he said, echoing his words to Harry two years ago. "It's necessary if you want to survive."

Varinia nodded mutely and kissed the tattoo on his left shoulder. "What does this one mean?"

"An eight-pointed star for an eight-year prison term."

"And this one?" She kissed the prow of the ship tattoo on his right shoulder.

"Freedom," he replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Or a yearning for it."

She placed a kiss on each of the sails, then moved down to the 'Mир' on his lower back.

"Now _this_ one I actually know," she said, and he felt her smile against his skin. "Peace."

Peace. Lucas felt it now, despite the troubling subject matter. Perhaps that was why he didn't think before he spoke.

"My clever linguist," came the whispered words.

Instead of moving on to the next tattoo, as Lucas had expected, Varinia went silent and still. Turning to glance at her, the expression on her face made him realise what he had said.

"Varinia, I..." he trailed off, unsure what to say. I'm sorry? I didn't mean it? I feel so relaxed with you that it just slipped out? "I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," she replied, shaking her head. "I was just surprised, is all."

"Well, _I'm_ uncomfortable now," he muttered.

She giggled and touched the tip of her nose to his. "Don't be. I know what you meant."

Lucas frowned, considering this. How could she know what he had meant when he himself didn't know? But the moment was awkward enough without his questioning her.

"Come on, you," he said, pulling her against his chest. "We've only a few hours till we have to be up, and we _really_ need the sleep."

Varinia yawned and pillowed her head upon his shoulder, resting a hand on the Blake tattoo. She stroked it briefly, before closing her eyes.

"Goodnight, Lucas."

He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her.

"Sleep well, Varinia."

#

The next morning, Varinia finished translating the most recent Chimaera message, whose contents had visibly shaken her.

"Harry, we have a problem," she announced, striding purposefully from the lift.

Lucas followed her into the office, conscious of Ruth's curious expression. He knew what she was wondering. He and Varinia had obviously arrived together, but that was easily explained. The purple marks just below her collarbone, however, were not. As he glanced at Varinia's Victorian-inspired shirt, he was instantly glad she had chosen to wear the high-necked garment.

"What's wrong, Varinia?" Harry asked, joining his team by the desks.

"They know we know about them," the linguist said ominously.

"MI5?" Harry questioned.

"No," replied Varinia. "At least this message didn't mention Five _or_ Six specifically." She gave Tariq her pen drive, which he plugged into his computer. The translated e-mail appeared on the projector screen. "But they know for sure that the Turks, Chinese, and Russians are aware of their experiments with the flu shots."

Lucas, having previously seen the message, nevertheless felt a chill down his spine as he read it again. Harry bent over the desk, his expression as grim as Lucas had ever seen it.

"They're scrapping further test runs," said the senior spy tonelessly.

"And moving on to the 'grand finale'," Ruth added. If the situation had not been so precarious, they might have been amused by the melodramatic phrase.

"I think this message was sent out to multiple people, probably in all the target countries," said Varinia.

Lucas nodded and read aloud a line near the end of the letter. "'We, The Cleansers, vow to purge the world of Western poison.'" He looked meaningfully at each of his colleagues in turn. "That includes us."

"At least we have a name now," Tariq remarked, though even his customary cheer was dampened by the e-mail.

Harry addressed Ruth. "Call Dr Gallagher," he instructed. "In the day it took to translate the message, _The Cleansers_ may have already begun preparations for the main event."

Lucas followed Harry into his office. "Do we know what that is yet?"

"If the e-mail doesn't say so, then no, not for certain," the senior spy replied. He poured himself a scotch, then the same amount into a second glass, which he handed to Lucas. "But I think it's safe to assume that whatever they're planning, it will be big and lethal."

"And directed at England and America," murmured Lucas, sipping the alcohol.

Harry had downed his in one go, a sure sign that he was afraid. Lucas didn't blame him. They knew very little about the organisation's impending actions, despite having access to its secret communications.

"I think it's time we brought in Kolesnikov," said Harry. "If we're to have any hope of stopping this, we'll need his intel."

Lucas drank the rest of his scotch and stood. "Don't worry, Harry. We'll get him."

As he walked towards the lift, Varinia, who was on the phone with Damla in Ankara, caught his gaze. He gave her a small nod, before the doors closed and the lift descended. When she had hung up, Varinia knocked on Harry's door. He invited her in.

"Ruth is talking to Marcus, and I've just spoken with Damla, our MİT contact in Ankara," she said. "They've intercepted and translated the message, too, and it checks out with ours. Turkish special forces have gone after Boris Trotsky, Kolesnikov's equivalent in Ankara."

Harry took in the information with a pensive expression. He folded his hands on the desk and leant forward.

"I can't help wondering if it isn't significant that two of the confirmed terrorists are Russian."

"You think the Russians are more involved than they say?" Varinia asked, her brows furrowing in consideration. "Well, it would make sense. I imagine it isn't the first time they've lied about something like this."

"No, it's not," Harry agreed, a touch wryly. "I suppose we'll know soon enough," he said, with a sigh. "Lucas has taken a team to apprehend Kolesnikov."

"Do they know where he is?"

"He was captured on the cameras at Cannon Street underground," Harry replied. "That was a few hours ago, and CCTV hasn't shown him at any other station since then. But Tariq will remain in contact with Lucas the entire time."

"Could he have taken a taxi back to his flat?" she asked.

"Yes," affirmed Harry. "And if I know Lucas, he'll split the team and have one half search the area around Kolesnikov's last known location, while he accompanies the other half to the flat."

Before Varinia could reply, Ruth poked her head in.

"Harry, you're going to want to see this."

The woman looked and sounded so worried that the linguist's stomach did a nervous flip. Harry glanced at her briefly on his way out, and she followed.

"Remember the mother and daughter in Yunnan province?" Ruth prompted. "Well, the Chinese have just informed us that they've died. As have four others, all of whom presented with the same symptoms as the Turkish victims."

"Do the Chinese know who was responsible?" Harry asked.

"They have a few suspects, who had access to medical supplies in the area," Ruth replied, handing him a sheet of paper with three names and pictures on it. According to the biographies, they were all Chinese, but one of them had lived in Moscow for a time.

"But no luck finding them yet?"

Ruth shook her head. "The MSS have agents stationed at transport points, but the suspects could be long gone."

"Now we have definitive proof that the Chinese are actually involved," pointed out Varinia. "That's something."

"You'd suspected that from Chimaera, though, didn't you?" Tariq asked.

"Only because Chimaera has a Chinese component," she admitted. "I figured there had to be native speakers of each constituent language to create it."

"Native doctors, too, it would seem," mused Harry. He looked at Ruth, who pursed her lips.

"There's more, Harry." She opened an e-mail that contained a news article in Russian, with a brief explanation below it in English. "Marcus sent this after we spoke. Twelve people in Yugorsk, a town in Siberia, near-simultaneously fell ill with flu-like symptoms yesterday evening. Nine of them are already dead."

Ruth moved aside to allow Varinia to access the computer.

"The doctors questioned them, and none of them reported receiving a vaccine of any kind, although they had all visited the same local clinic that day."

"Then The Cleansers have already begun the next phase," Harry determined. He rubbed his forehead, thinking. "When is Dr Gallagher coming in?"

"As soon as she can," Ruth replied. "She was finishing up her shift when I called."

When Harry regarded Varinia, she noticed he looked quite weary.

"Is Six's information accurate?" he asked.

"Based on this article, yes," she answered. "But apparently they didn't think it was important that Yugorsk has a heavy Mansi population, as well as a Khanty one."

"That cannot be coincidental," Harry said.

"No, I don't think so either," the linguist agreed.

"In that case, Germany is their next target." Before Harry could even turn to Ruth, she had already begun dialing Marcus' number.

At that moment, Dr Gallagher arrived, looking tired but focused.

"Ruth said there was urgent news?"

The team updated her on what they had learnt, including the recent illnesses in Siberia. Occasionally she asked questions, but mostly she listened silently, her mouth set in a tense line.

"The Russian patients all described the same thing," Varinia told her, consulting the article. "They had attended their local clinic, and there were twelve of them in the waiting room, when the heat suddenly turned on for a few minutes, then shut off. A nurse, wearing a face mask, then informed them that the clinic had to close due to a gas leak and sent them home."

"My God," Dr Gallagher breathed. "They've managed to create an aerosol delivery system for the bacterium."

"That's why the nurse wore the mask," said Tariq, understanding. "This is bad."

"It's potentially catastrophic," the infectious disease specialist corrected. "As the Chinese case demonstrates, this strain of septicaemic plague is antibiotic-resistant, which is disastrous enough on its own. But _this_ ", she murmured, her brown eyes holding a hint of fear, "could result in a global pandemic before anyone can even utter _Yersinia pestis_."

"What can we do?" Harry asked.

"The creation of a disease and delivery system this sophisticated requires high-tech microbiology labs," Dr Gallagher explained. "The organisation wouldn't risk transporting the bacteria across borders, so each target country, including Russia, must have at least one such lab."

Harry nodded and contacted Lucas, requesting that he return to the Grid immediately. CO19 could handle Kolesnikov when and if they found him.

"Damla said that their people have been working on a vaccine since the septicaemic plague was confirmed," offered Varinia. "If we can get a sample of the bacterium, we can do the same."

"I'll talk to Marcus," said Harry. "Meanwhile, Tariq, work with Dr Gallagher on locating potential labs in the UK."

The computer whizz nodded and moved a chair next to his computer for the infectious disease specialist.

"Varinia, how well do you know Chimaera?"

The linguist's head tilted in curiosity. "Well enough to translate it into English. Why?"

"Can you translate English into _it_?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Maybe," she replied uncertainly. "But it would take me longer than their linguists to write a reply."

Harry masked his disappointment. If Varinia could formulate a convincing response, they might be able to stall a widespread release of the disease long enough to locate the labs and stop the plot. Or at least long enough to find an antibiotic that was still effective against the bacterium.

"But I can try," she acquiesced, sitting down at her desk. "Just tell me what to write, and I'll do my best."

That was how Lucas found them upon his return, Harry sitting beside Varinia, who was biting her bottom lip in concentration. He had seen that expression many times in Ankara, and even then he had wanted to kiss the abused flesh. The only thing that had changed now was that he _could_.

"Ah, good you're here, Lucas," greeted Harry. Varinia glanced up at Lucas and gave him a small wave, before turning her attention back to her work. "Once Dr Gallagher and Tariq locate potential labs in England that could be used to assemble the bioweapon, I'd like you and a HazMat team to investigate a few of them. Other teams, including Six's, will cover the rest."

"The situation is that dire, then?" Lucas questioned, his brows creasing.

"An attack is definitely impending, but we don't know where yet," Harry replied. "Varinia is working on a message to buy us some time."

At the mention of her name, the linguist bit her lip so hard that she drew blood. Lucas frowned but didn't move towards her, though his first instinct had been to do just that.

"It probably won't work," she warned, wincing at the sting in her lip. "By the time I finish this, all of London might be infected."

Harry exchanged a glance with Lucas. "It doesn't hurt to try," said the senior spy. He placed a hand on Varinia's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I have to speak to Marcus, but I'll be in my office if you need anything."

When Harry had gone, Lucas scanned the room. Content that everyone was sufficiently absorbed in their own tasks, he took the seat beside Varinia that his superior had just vacated.

Nudging her shoulder with his, he said, "It'll be all right."

"I beg to differ," she responded, her eyes meeting his for an instant. "We're out of our depth, Lucas. Or at least, I am."

His gaze trailed over the computer screen. Whether or not the writing was correct, he didn't know, but it looked convincing to him.

"The fact that you can write even half a message in Chimaera means you're not out of your depth," Lucas disagreed. She sighed but didn't reply. "Look," he said, allowing his hand to rest on her thigh for a moment, "I have to go, and I may not be back by the time you leave for home."

This time, she faced him. Her expression held a mix of fear and anger.

"Don't go, Lucas," she whispered. "You saw what that thing did to Eda."

He smiled softly, touched by her concern for him. "I'll be wearing protective gear, the kind people like Dr Gallagher wear." She didn't look reassured, and he felt a wave of affection for her. "I'll be fine, Varinia."

She gazed at him intently, her eyes flicking between his. "You'd better be." A small hand joined his on her thigh, then retreated.

Lucas took that as his cue to go. Making a quick phone call to assemble a HazMat team, he walked towards the lift.


	16. Words Translated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kolesnikov is on the move, and Lucas opens up to Varinia.

With the reply to The Cleansers' message completed, Varinia sat uselessly at her desk, re-reading her notes on Chimaera. Tariq had managed to hack Kolesnikov's e-mail service and write a program that allowed him to substitute a given e-mail address with another one. He'd called it a mirror site of sorts, explaining that this way, instead of seeing the random e-mail address Tariq had created, Kolesnikov would see the e-mail address of his intended contact.

"So, he won't suspect we've interfered?" Varinia checked. She had been nervous about the plan from the outset, but now that it was about to reach fruition, her stomach roiled from anxiety.

"Kolesnikov will see what he's expecting to see," Tariq answered. "A reply from his colleague in Russia."

"I know. I trust you," she said. Glancing at the document still open on her computer, the linguist sighed. "I wish I could say the same for myself."

Tariq gave her a sympathetic look. "You're a polyglot, though. If anyone's capable of fooling Kolesnikov, I would think it'd be you."

Varinia appreciated the man's attempts to reassure her, but the matter wasn't as simple as speaking a few languages. If it were, she would already be fluent in Chimaera.

"Yeah, I know some languages," she stated. "But Chimaera is like nothing I've ever encountered. It's kind of like..." She trailed off, considering an analogy the computer whizz might understand. "Like Khuzdul. Tolkien created a grammar and a vocabulary for the dwarven language, but neither is fully formed yet. That's how Chimaera is to me. The organisation's linguists are surely expert, because they created it, but I have to make do with the messages."

"Which only contain a fraction of the language," Tariq deduced, with a nod. "I see what you mean."

There seemed nothing else to say after that, so Varinia changed the subject.

"There have been no e-mails from Kolesnikov to Cleansers in Germany?"

Tariq shook his head. "Still no word on where the first strike will be either."

"That's a bit nerve-wracking, isn't it?" she remarked. "How do you deal with such uncertainty every day?"

"Well, it's not every day that an international terrorist group wants to unleash a bioweapon on Europe," he replied, a touch wryly. "But I remember when there was almost a nuclear war between India and Pakistan. Those were some rather tense few days for me."

"I can only imagine," Varinia murmured. She glanced around the room, at Ruth, who was on the phone with someone, and at Harry's office, which was empty, because he had gone to update the Home Secretary on the current situation. "There's so much that goes on behind the scenes that lay people have no idea about. Sometimes I wonder if it's not better to be ignorant."

Tariq gave her a rueful smile. "I was definitely less stressed before I took this job."

"Me, too," she agreed. "The only thing I had to worry about while translating books was maintaining the author's style."

The computer whizz laughed, then sobered quickly when a notification popped up on his screen.

"Kolesnikov's been picked up on CCTV at Custom House for ExCeL's DLR station." Tariq informed the go teams, some of which could be there within ten minutes.

"That's quite a distance from the Cannon Street Underground," Varinia observed. "What's he doing all the way out there?"

"I have no idea," intoned Tariq, as baffled as the linguist. "But hopefully we'll find out soon."

#

Varinia was awoken by a dull pain in her midsection, which centered around her lower ribs the more alert she became. A hand rested in the dip of her waist, squeezing, and it took her a moment to realise that it was Lucas' hand. His breathing was harsh, almost laboured, and when she turned her head towards him, she noticed his brow was creased.

"Lucas?" she whispered and tried to move out of his grip. But it merely tightened, making her hiss in pain. "Lucas!"

Blue eyes fluttered open, dazed and troubled. Although they focused on Varinia, they were still unseeing, and only when she winced did they lose that faraway look. Lucas glanced down at his hand on her waist and immediately let go, reeling back in shock as her skin bore the evidence of his hold.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. "I'm so sorry, Varinia."

The wretched expression on his face dispelled whatever fear or anger she might have felt.

"It's okay," she reassured him. His brow was still tense, so she stroked over the creases, watching his guilt transform into surprise at the gesture. "No harm done."

"You'll bruise," he said quietly.

Varinia brushed her fingers through his hair, pleased that the tension seemed to be slowly leaving his body.

"And then I'll heal," she replied. When he could meet her gaze, she indulged her curiosity. "Was it a nightmare?"

He hesitated, eyes flicking between hers. "Yes."

"About Russia?"

"Yes."

She shifted closer to him and stretched up to kiss his forehead.

"Do you-" she broke off, looking at him uncertainly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No. He didn't want to talk about it. Talking meant remembering, and remembering meant reliving. He couldn't relive Lushanka, not now while The Cleansers were a threat. He was about to say as much, when he glimpsed the two small bruises already blossoming on her skin. The guilt returned. He owed her an explanation for them.

"I was tortured for four years at the Lushanka Interrogation Camp," he said hollowly. "That nightmare was about one of those sessions."

Her eyes closed, and when they opened again, there were tears in them. Varinia cupped his nape and touched her forehead to his. His arms went around her to pull her against him, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking in her warmth and scent. She didn't speak. Words fell short in expressing how her heart ached for him. The tears that dripped onto his skin told him everything he needed to know. Their relationship, which had begun as something purely sexual, had developed into something far more meaningful. The transformation had caught him unawares, but now that he thought about it, the emotions had been there from the start.

Lucas kissed her neck, then pulled away to look at her. Tears still stained her cheeks, and he gently wiped them away with the pad of his thumbs. She gave an embarrassed laugh.

"I'm supposed to be comforting _you_."

"And you do," he said, smiling softly. "Your touch, your scent...they ground me and remind me that the past is in the past."

"I know I'm a terrible person for asking this..." She trailed off to gauge his reaction. He was observing her impassively, but his lips twitched for an instant, as though he knew her question before she even voiced it. "But would you tell me about Lushanka?" He didn't respond immediately, so she hastily backtracked. "That was a stupid and thoughtless thing to ask. I'm so-"

Further apologies were silenced by his mouth upon hers. It was a chaste kiss, quick, but it served its purpose.

"I can talk about it," he reassured her. "What would you like to know?"

"Who was responsible for the...interrogations?"

Lucas noticed she chose her words carefully, seemingly unwilling to use the word 'torture.'

"A Russian man named Oleg Darshavin. He had just been promoted by the FSB to chief interrogator at Lushanka and was rather _enthusiastic_ about his work." He said that so dryly that Varinia stared at him, her brows raised. "It's been over two years, love," Lucas explained. "I've recovered, for the most part. Very stressful jobs occasionally prompt nightmares, and showers still sometimes bring back memories, but I'm all right."

"Memories of waterboarding?" she inquired astutely.

He nodded. "For the first nine months after my release, I couldn't take a shower at all. I would have a violent reaction every time the water touched my face or head."

"So how did you wash your hair, then?"

"Creatively," he said, with a small, wry smile. "Dry shampoo sometimes, but with a sponge or a cloth other times."

"You seemed okay during that shower we took together," she remarked, frowning slightly. "God, I'm sorry. If I had know-"

"I _was_ okay," he interrupted. Lucas swiped a thumb over her cheek, smoothing out the wrinkles from her frown. "I can stand under the spray now without reacting badly, though occasionally I still feel a bit nervous." He grinned and allowed his gaze to flick lower, to her bare breasts uncovered by the sheets. "Distractions help."

Varinia snorted. "I'm sure they do." Then she sobered and traced the Blake tattoo with a finger. "Is it true that they use urine for prison tattoos?"

"Yes, they mix it with the molten rubber from the heel of a boot to make the ink," Lucas replied. "That's not really common knowledge, though."

She looked down, her tone and expression sheepish. "I may have done a bit of research after you told me about your tattoos..."

"I see," he said, chuckling and touching his nose to hers. "And what else are you curious about?"

"Far too many things for it to be considered appropriate."

"Mmm," he rumbled. "Well, neither is sleeping with your colleague while on assignment, but we've done _that_."

Varinia stared at him in mild alarm. "You said that wasn't against the rules!"

"It isn't," he placated, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Go on, ask what you want to know."

She bit her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he said. "This is the first time I've really spoken in detail about Lushanka, and it's not as difficult as I thought it'd be."

"All right, then. What else did Darshavin, um, do to you?"

Lucas proceeded to tell Varinia of the torture sessions that would last for hours. Of being stripped naked and strapped to a chair, while a car battery that sent searing shocks of electricity through his body was hooked up to his testicles. Of being doused with ice water afterwards in the freezing, cold room. Of lying on the dirty floor and enduring repeated kicks to his groin, belly, ribs, and head. Of the waterboardings, with his face covered by a filthy rag, as water was poured over his mouth and nose, creating the illusion that he was drowning. Of how his pleas and shouts and yells fell on deaf or uncaring ears. Of Darshavin comforting him after the sessions, holding him and petting his hair, like he would a dog's fur. Of actually being _grateful_ for those demeaning moments, because at least they weren't full of cruelty. Of being isolated for months, during which times the only human voices he heard were his own and his guard's when food was passed through the slot. Of coming to crave the beatings, so that he wouldn't be alone anymore.

But he didn't-- _couldn't_ \--tell her about the rapes. She looked aghast enough as it was.

"I can't imagine how you survived those eight years," Varinia said, her voice tight as she tried not to cry.

"I thought about my wife--my ex _-_ wife," he confessed. "And I thought about what would happen to the people I loved if I told Darshavin what he wanted to know." Lucas sighed and gathered Varinia into his arms. "There were times I really believed I wouldn't make it out."

"I wouldn't have," she admitted. "Or maybe I would have, because I doubt I could have stayed loyal while being tortured."

He nodded. "You know, part of the reason I was released at all was because I'd agreed to spy for the FSB."

Varinia looked up at him, her brows raised in surprise.

"And did you?"

"No," he answered, with a shrug. "But I'd managed to convince the Russians that I did."

Her gaze met his for an instant, before she suddenly hugged him tightly. Though her words were muffled, Lucas discerned the waver in her tone.

"You are a remarkable man, Lucas North, for enduring all that you have." He felt kisses on his chest and neck, and teardrops, too. "I hate them for what they did to you."

That his imprisonment pained her so acutely amazed him. Because of the nature of his work, Lucas had never before encountered such unreserved sympathy from someone, and it humbled him, making him realise just how very different he and the linguist were. But it also prompted a flood of affection towards her.

He pulled away gently and kissed her, his hands cradling her face, his lips moving tenderly with hers. Unlike their previous kisses, this one carried no lust. It was slow but not sensual, hot but not heated. It contained Lucas' feelings, translating the words he could not say into sensations Varinia might understand.

And, from the expression on her face after they'd separated, he knew she had indeed understood.

"My clever linguist," he whispered, and this time, he had no desire to retract the appellation.


	17. Truths and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varinia goes out in the field again but not exactly as herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a bit of Russian (transliterated, not Cyrillic). Check the end of the chapter for the translation. 
> 
> Also, this chapter was _hard_.

The Grid was a flurry of activity when Varinia arrived the next morning, _sans_ Lucas, who had left early to track down more potential labs. She glanced around the room, somewhat deterred, as phones rang and computers beeped and Harry's angry voice floated from his office.

"He's talking with the Russians," Tariq said, following her gaze to Harry's open door. "After CO19 seized Kolesnikov at Custom House yesterday, the Russians demanded custody of him."

"That's rich of them," she scoffed. "Where were their agents when Kolesnikov was traipsing all over London?"

Tariq flashed her a wry smile. "You can see why he's a bit cross."

Harry came out of his office, his frown lifting slightly at the sight of the linguist.

"The Russians have generously allowed me to attend Kolesnikov's questiong," he said dryly. "I'd like you to come with me, Varinia, in case they say something I may not understand."

"Oh...I really don't think that's a good idea," she hedged. "Six could send someone far more qualified."

Tariq glanced between Harry and Varinia, while he readied the communication equipment. The woman seemed nervous, her fingers fiddling with the bottommost button on her blouse.

"I know you're not an agent," said Harry, trying to remain patient. "But you're familiar with the situation and the language."

"Can't I just listen in with Tariq?"

"Unfortunately not," he replied. "The Russians will likely disable our coms as a matter of security."

"Or run interference," Tariq interjected.

"Or that," Harry nodded. "Either way, communications may be cut off, which is why I need you in there with me." He noticed that she still looked hesitant, so he added, "You'll have an alias, Varinia, one that doesn't include fluency in Russian."

"I'm not fluent in Russian," she murmured but offered no further protest. "Just...don't make me shoot anyone," she requested.

Harry patted Varinia's shoulder and gave her a half-smile. "Deal."

#

She was Charlotte Winthrop, the newest hire at Section D. Or at least that's what her ID badge said. Varinia just prayed that the Russians hadn't recently read MI5's or MI6's personnel files, because then her cover would be blown. But, she reasoned, Harry surely knew what he was doing, and if it wasn't safe, he would not have brought her. Or so she hoped.

They drove in relative silence to the building where Kolesnikov was being held. It was in a seedy part of the city, along the outskirts, which wasn't surprising, considering the FSB's penchant for vocal interrogation methods. When they pulled up outside the warehouse--again, unsurprising--, Harry confirmed protocol with Tariq, then addressed Varinia.

"Try to look stern," he advised. "It will help them believe that Charlotte Winthrop is real." Harry observed the linguist, as she schooled her expression into one that was less anxious and more authoritarian. "Good," he said. "Just follow my lead. If asked direct questions about the case, answer honestly, but be vague about Chimaera."

She gave a perfunctory nod, which was distinctly Ros-like, Harry noted.

"Understood."

The girl learnt quickly. Of course, the brusque response could have also been due to nervousness, but if it was, she had masked it well. They got out of the car, and he noticed that even her walk had changed. Whereas Varinia Erdélyi tended to avert her gaze, Charlotte Winthrop strode ahead, her shoulders squared, looking passersby in the eye.

The girl learnt _very_ quickly.

Boris Gulyanov, the Russian attaché, met them at the door. He was naturally a sour-faced man, but when he saw Varinia, his scowl deepened.

"You did not mention that we would have company, Harry."

The Brit glanced from the Russian to the linguist, suppressing a smile at the knowledge that he had nettled the man.

"Boris, this is Charlotte Winthrop," Harry introduced. "She's new at Section D, so I figured it would be a good training experience for her."

Gulyanov looked at her, his annoyance transforming into skepticism.

"No doubt," he intoned. "You are a bit younger than the other one...Ros Myers, was it?"

"Don't let my age fool you, Mr Gulyanov. I am more than qualified to attend this questioning," Varinia said coolly. She gestured towards the entrance, a brow raised expectantly. "Shall we? I believe Mikhail Kolesnikov awaits."

If the Russian was taken aback by her commandeering of the meeting, he didn't show it. Opening the door, he led Harry and Varinia inside, where they were frisked by Russian agents. As Harry had predicted, they confiscated their coms.

"For security, you understand," Gulyanov explained.

Harry inclined his head. "Of course," he said placidly. "I would do the same if our situations were reversed."

A lift took them down two floors to the basement, and four armed guards escorted them through a steel door into a well-lit room. Huge, metal hooks hung from the ceiling, making Varinia feel like she had stumbled onto a scene from a horror movie. The only furniture in the room was a table with two chairs. Tied to one of the chairs was a bulky, blond man. Mikhail Kolesnikov.

Despite her assurances to Gulyanov, Varinia was hardly qualified to witness Kolesnikov's interrogation. Although she doubted even the Russians were audacious enough to use hard torture in front of MI5, there were other ways to extract information. And some of them, she knew, toed the ethical line.

Varinia stuck close to Harry and gazed up at one of the hooks. Seeing the movement, Gulyanov said, "This used to be a meat-packing plant."

"Good to know," she quipped.

"Perhaps we should begin?" prompted Harry. "After all, there _is_ an epidemic looming on the horizon."

Kolesnikov laughed at that. "You have no idea what is coming."

"Oh, I think we do," Gulyanov contended. "We have been monitoring your activity since your arrival in London. We know of your comings and goings, as well as of your communications."

" _Da_ ," agreed the rogue agent. "Yet it has taken you this long to catch me. My little watchdogs did not even notice when I had left my flat."

"But we did," said Harry.

Kolesnikov regarded the Brit with a small, pleased smile.

"Harry Pearce, it _is_ an honor. I have read so much about you."

Varinia shouldn't have been surprised at the man's knowledge of Harry. After all, she knew he had been a high-ranking officer in the FSB, until he'd enacted The Cleansers' plot. But she still could not stifle her shock, nor her apprehension that he had read MI6's personnel files, in addition to MI5's.

"Alas, I cannot return the compliment," Harry lamented. "But I might be able to if you tell us where you are manufacturing the bioweapon."

Kolesnikov chuckled again. "As tempting as acquiring your respect is, I cannot do that." Then his gaze flitted to Varinia--to Charlotte--, and he grinned. "However, if _she_ is to be my interrogator, I may yet cooperate."

Before Harry could intervene, Varinia stepped forward. Her heart thudded wildly, but her demeanor betrayed none of the uncertainty she felt.

"I wouldn't be so keen to flirt, if I were you," she remarked, feigning the dry sort of amusement she imagined Ros Myers would have displayed. "You're bound in a room with hooks dangling from the ceiling and blood stains on the floor. And I'm sure one of these Russians has some sodium pentothal in case you're not feeling particularly chatty."

"Or something worse," Harry added, his tone light, despite the subject matter. His lips twitched. Varinia was playing the role of Charlotte Winthrop far more convincingly than he had anticipated.

Growing frustrated with his dwindling authority, Gulyanov nodded to a guard, who produced a hypodermic needle from a stainless steel case.

"The girl is right, Mikhail," he said. "You will talk, willingly or unwillingly."

" _Pošól ná xuj_ ," spat Kolesnikov, as he struggled against his bonds.

Harry didn't have to ask for a translation; the rogue agent's tone conveyed the sentence's meaning. He surreptitiously glanced at Varinia, but her face showed no sign of comprehension, though he knew she had understood.

The FSB agent holding the needle looked to Gulyanov, but the attaché shook his head.

"English, Mikhail, so that our guests can enjoy your vulgarity, too," he scolded. "Now, I will ask you one more time. Where are the labs in which the bioweapon is being produced?"

Kolesnikov shrugged. "You should capture our microbiologists. I am just the _véstnik_."

"The what?" inquired Varinia.

"The messenger," Gulyanov answered curtly. "Then you leave me with no choice, Mikhail." He motioned to the guard, who filled the syringe with a clear liquid. "Last chance," the attaché warned. "You of all people know the effects of sodium pentothal."

Chin held high, Kolesnikov fixed Gulyanov with a steely glare and remained silent.

"Very well. Inject him."

Varinia wanted to look away when the needle pierced Kolesnikov's skin, but she didn't, because Charlotte Winthrop would not have. The man didn't take the injection without protest. He tugged so violently against the zip ties binding his arms and legs that it was a miracle the needle hit its mark at all. And the curses he shouted were vile enough that Varinia's eyes widened for an instant, before she remembered she was not supposed to understand them. No one paid her any heed, though; their attention was on Kolesnikov.

Now Harry stepped forward to join Gulyanov in front of the rogue agent.

"Let's try this again, shall we?"

#

It was three hours later that Harry and Varinia returned to the Grid, neither in a particularly good mood. They had learnt the locations of a few labs, but it appeared Kolesnikov did not know where all of them were. Harry suspected that none of the Cleansers did. Such a tactic was common among spies, he explained, because even if one or more agents were compromised, the operation would still be viable.

"You did well," he praised, as they exited the lift.

"Thanks." Varinia leant against a desk, rubbing her temples. From tension or from Kolesnikov's drug-induced ravings, she had developed a throbbing headache. "But I'm not eager to repeat that."

"Neither, I think, is Kolesnikov," came the dry reply.

"Harry," she began hesitantly, "I need to tell you something."

On the drive back, they had updated Ruth and Tariq, in addition to calling Lucas with the locations of two labs in England. As a result, there hadn't been time for Varinia to tell Harry that Gulyanov had conveniently neglected to translate some of Kolesnikov's responses.

"That doesn't sound reassuring."

"It's not," Varinia said, with a grimace. Ruth and Tariq gathered around, as the linguist braced herself to deliver the news. "One of the things Kolesnikov said in Russian was that their operatives in New York City and Washington D.C. are days away from releasing the bioweapon."

"Are you certain?" demanded Harry.

"Kolesnikov can't lie while drugged with sodium pentothal, right?" Harry's grim expression was answer enough. "Then yes, I'm certain."

"We need to inform the Americans," Harry said, but Ruth was already dialing. "Varinia, talk to Damla. See if they've had any success with their Cleansers. Tariq, keep all channels open. Now more than ever we need to know what's going on in the other target countries." He donned his coat and walked towards the lift. "I need to meet with the Home Secretary, but let me know the moment you learn something."

The team completed their respective tasks, after which Ruth texted Harry that the Turkish and Chinese had both intercepted Cleansers, who, like Kolesnikov, eventually divulged information. They had also dispatched more HazMat crews but had so far come up empty. Lucas wasn't having much luck either. Though one of his units had searched a lab Kolesnikov had identified, it contained no traces of septicaemic plague.

"Is it possible that Kolesnikov lied after all?" Varinia asked, worrying her bottom lip.

Over speakerphone, Lucas couldn't see her expression, but he knew her well enough by now that he could picture it quite accurately. He wanted to reassure her, to trail his tongue over her abused flesh. But they had an audience and many miles between them.

 _"Not very likely,"_ he replied. _"Knowing the Russians, they gave him a very high dose of sodium pentothal, and though FSB agents_ are _trained to resist interrogation, Gulyanov would have known the right dosage to make him talk."_

"Varinia, you mentioned that Kolesnikov claimed not to know the locations of the active labs," Ruth said. "What if he was telling the truth?"

 _"That's more probable,_ " Lucas agreed. _"From his activities, he does seem to be a messenger, or even an overseer."_

"And The Cleansers are organised, with specialised agents doing each job," Tariq added.

"Like with Chimaera," Varinia mused. "Kolesnikov doesn't know the language, so he dictates the messages, which a linguist then translates. It could be the same deal with the disease. He knows the plan, but not the nitty-gritty details, because that's the bacteriologists' job."

Ruth sighed. "So we've hit a dead end."

_"As have the Turks and Chinese."_

They were silent, then, the only sound the clamor of traffic from Lucas' end and the _clack_ of a keyboard as Tariq typed away. He had been busy with something during the entire conversation.

"Maybe not," he said. "When I hacked into Kolesnikov's e-mail, I was also able to see his address book. Obviously, the names are aliases, but I've been running them through a bunch of systems, searching for any matches." A page appeared on the projector screen. The same few words were highlighted throughout. "And I think I've found some."

Ruth's brows raised, as she realised the significance of the names. "Government-employed microbiologists."

"Of course," breathed Varinia, with a grin. "It's safer to use existing people who you know are discreet, instead of recruiting strangers."

 _"Or whose families you can threaten,"_ Lucas murmured. _"Tariq, can you identify them?"_

The tech whizz shook his head. "Not in time."

 _"Then send the list of aliases to Harry,"_ suggested Lucas. _"If he's still with the Home Secretary, there's probably also a Russian, a Chinese, or an American present."_

Ruth did and received a reply within seconds.

"Gulyanov is with him, and the Americans. They're looking into it," she said. "He wants us to share the names with the Turkish and the Chinese, too."

Tariq nodded. "Done."

"So, now what?" the linguist asked.

_"Now we keep monitoring channels and checking the labs Dr Gallagher told us about."_

Varinia glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only one in the afternoon. Heaving a weary sigh, she said, "It's going to be a _long_ day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Pošól ná xuj_ roughly means "fuck off" or "go fuck yourself" in Russian. Researching that was fun. XD


	18. Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cleansers kick things up, and a new player reveals himself...sort of.

Over the next few days, everyone worked overtime, expecting that at any minute, reports would flood in of a mysterious, deadly illness striking America's metropolises. But no such reports came. In fact, nothing was happening. Had Kolesnikov been bluffing all along?

From the aliases of government microbiologists that Tariq had discovered, only a few had been identified, but with their intel, the HazMat teams had found and neutralised two hot labs in England, along with a handful in Turkey, China, Russia, Germany, and America. Clinics and hospitals were on high alert, but so far, they encountered no cases of septicaemic plague, except the ones from the trials. With some of their more prolific agents seized, it seemed that The Cleansers had pulled the reins on their plans. For now, at least.

But neither Harry nor Lucas liked this new quiet.

"They're planning something else," Lucas declared.

"But what?" asked Varinia. "There have been no Chimaera messages either, so how can we even find out?"

"We need to track down more members," answered Harry. "Someone involved in the decision-making."

Tariq glanced up from his computer, looking wearier than the rest of them.

"I've been scouring every relevant country's government and secret service records, but there's nothing that stands out as distinctly Cleansers, just like there wasn't with Kolesnikov or Trotsky."

"And Gulyanov has been useless," griped Harry.

Varinia refreshed her e-mail for the fourth time, hoping for a new message. The same, old subject headings glared back at her.

"The Turks captured another yesterday, but she's a linguist."

"Sodding stalemates," Lucas muttered. He leant against Varinia's desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

"And this is the longest one we've had in a while," Harry added. "Remember Iran 1997, Lucas?"

Lucas groaned. "Who could forget it?"

Varinia was about to ask what had happened during Iran 1997, when Ruth, who'd been on the phone with someone, walked into the room.

"Careful what you wish for," she warned, her expression grave. "Over seventy cases of septicaemic plague have just been confirmed in Bristol."

Varinia nearly dropped her coffee cup, and even Lucas stood up straight.

" _What_?"

"At a Tesco this morning," Ruth explained. "Definitely aerosol, because people got sick near-simultaneously within hours of exposure."

Lucas rubbed a hand over his mouth, an indication that he was deeply troubled.

"So before they knew they were sick, they continued interacting with others and potentially infected them, as well?"

"Everyone from the supermarket has been quarantined, and police are tracking down anyone who has come into contact with them," said Ruth "But if even one person has left the city, the disease could spread."

"It will spread in other ways," came Harry's ominous reply.

Varinia's mobile rang.

"Hanna," she announced, before answering it. Her stomach clenched and churned, with good reason, for the German agent bore grim news. "Ninety-eight in Frankfurt," Varinia said, after hanging up. "At a restaurant."

"Dear God," Harry breathed. He collected himself quickly, however. "We need to call Dr Gallagher to coordinate the quarantine and treatment. We also need to contact the Americans, because they're almost certainly next."

"It looks like they're targeting smaller cities," Ruth observed.

"There's less monitoring in Bristol than in London," Harry answered. "Ruth, Lucas, figure out the next likely targets in the UK."

They nodded, but before they could go about their tasks, Tariq said, "Wait. They've just sent another Chimaera message."

They gathered around the computer, with Varinia skimming the e-mail over his shoulder.

"Does Qi Jiguang mean anything?" asked the tech whizz.

Ruth furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed. "Well, he was a 16th century Chinese general."

"And apparently also the author of this message," said Tariq.

"They've never been signed before," Varinia remarked.

"Qi Jiguang is probably a high-ranking agent in The Cleansers, then," Lucas deduced.

Ruth nodded. "Qi Jiguang is a national hero, so it's a fitting alias for someone in charge of an organisation committed to freeing the world of Western influence."

"The author, who sounds male, _does_ give a lot of commands," agreed Varinia. "More venues, more cities, all up to the local faction's discretion."

"Rather free-form leadership," quipped Tariq.

"Yeah, but that's kind of scary," said the linguist. "From this message, it's clear that Jinguang feels confident enough that he's giving his underlings free rein with the bacteria."

"Which makes it even more imperative that we find all active labs," said Harry. "For such a massive undertaking, they'll need to continue manufacturing the disease."

"We also need to find this Jinguang," Lucas said. "Is there anything in the message that would hint at his location?"

Tariq and Varinia shook their heads.

"He's scrambled or blocked his IP address, so I can't trace it."

"And he only references Japan and pirates."

Ruth looked interested. "That could be a clue," she said. At her colleagues' curious expressions, she explained. "Qi Jinguang is popular mostly because he led the fight against Japanese pirates during the Ming Dynasty. The Japanese wanted China, but he was instrumental in stopping them."

"I see the parallel between Japan and the West, but how does that help us find him?" asked Harry.

"Because he's probably Chinese," Ruth answered. "I'll talk to the MSS, see if they know more."

"Good," said Harry. "Tariq, search CCTV and airline manifests for anyone who might fit Jinguang, in case he's in England."

"You really think he'd direct the plot from here?" Ruth wondered.

Harry smiled grimly. "I've a feeling he's brazen enough to do just that."

#

Varinia climbed the stairs to her flat after Lucas dropped her off, yawning and running a hand through her hair. The lack of sleep was starting to wear on her; she hadn't slept more than three or four hours a night since Tariq had intercepted the first Chimaera message. That was probably why she was less alert than usual as she unlocked her door and took off her shoes in the foyer. If she had paid more attention, she might have noticed that a corner of the rug was folded over.

She walked farther into the flat, not bothering with the lights, when suddenly, a burly arm closed around her waist and a hand covered her mouth to muffle her scream. She fought against the hold, especially when she felt a sharp pinch to the side of her neck, but her struggle was in vain. Within seconds, she fell limply into the first man's arms, while the second man capped the empty hypodermic needle and led the way to the street. They laid her onto the backseat of a car parked around the corner and drove away.

#

Lucas had just arrived in Birmingham with a HazMat team, when his mobile rang.

"The guys are going in right now, Harry," he said. "According to Gallagher, there's been a lot of activity at this lab, so it seems promising."

" _Yes, it does. But that's not why I called, Lucas,_ " said Harry, his tone guarded. " _Varinia didn't come in to work this morning._ "

The younger man froze, as he watched the last specialist enter the building.

"Have you called her?"

" _Tariq did, and we sent an agent to her flat, but she wasn't there_."

"What was the state of her flat?" Lucas asked.

Dozens of thoughts raced through his mind, horrific images of Varinia kidnapped or injured or dead somewhere. Nausea bubbled up in his stomach, and he covered his mouth in an effort to keep his breakfast down.

" _No sign of forced entry or of a struggle,_ " Harry replied. " _And Tariq has found nothing suspicious on CCTV._ " He paused, almost hesitating. " _Lucas, is it possible she bolted?_ "

"No," the spy said firmly. "Varinia wouldn't leave without notice, especially not at a time like this."

" _Then we must assume she has been abducted, most likely by The Cleansers_."

Lucas breathed in deeply, then started the car. Throwing it into reverse, he backed out of the parking spot and made his way far too quickly towards the motorway.

"I'm coming in, Harry." Before his superior could argue, Lucas added, "She's my partner, and her safety is my responsibility."

Harry relented, knowing he couldn't dissuade his agent anyway. " _Tariq is already searching for possible leads. Hopefully he'll have something by the time you get here._ "

Lucas hung up and dropped his phone onto the passenger seat. The nausea had not subsided, and now fear gripped his heart as tightly as his hands gripped the steering wheel. He was certain The Cleansers had taken Varinia. She should never have been involved in the first place, let alone made to come face-to-face with Kolesnikov.

Another betrayal, except this time, _he_ was the betrayer.


	19. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varinia meets her captor, while Lucas and Co. come up empty.

Varinia regained consciousness in a dim room, lying on her side, with her hands bound together by a zip-tie. Panic instantly swelled in her chest, as tears welled in her eyes. Her memory was foggy, but she knew she had been abducted from her flat. She recalled walking into her foyer, not bothering to turn on the light, and being grabbed, while another person injected something into her neck. It had obviously been a sedative, judging from the fact that she didn't remember the journey from her flat to this room.

Using her abdominal muscles, shoulder, and legs, she pushed herself into a seated position to survey her surroundings. She focused on the sparse furniture, on the lone light fixture above her head, on anything but the short, gasping breaths that rushed from her lungs. Tears spilled over, sliding down her cheeks. Her arms ached behind her back, her throat was parched, and the injection site still stung. But curiously, she was not nauseated from whatever her kidnappers had used to knock her out. Once she had regained some of her composure, Varinia realised, of course, that The Cleansers were her abductors, especially considering the sophisticated sedative. She also knew why and how they had taken her. Now all she needed to learn was _where_ so that she could figure out a way to contact Lucas.

It was while she was mulling over her next course of action that the door to the room opened, admitting an Oriental man. Despite her previous calm, Varinia instinctively flinched away from him.

"There's no need to be afraid," he reassured her. "You're safe for now."

Varinia eyed him warily as he crouched down near her, half a dozen observations running through her mind, including the fact that he spoke English with a British accent. And from the way the guards held back, he was clearly someone in charge.

"You're Qi Jiguang," she stated.

The man smiled, though he appeared to be surprised by the deduction.

"Very good, Ms Erdélyi." He noted that she, on the other hand, took his knowledge of her in stride. "So you are aware of why we've acquired you?"

Varinia shrugged but didn't reply. Jiguang indulged her with another smile.

"You see, you've been rather problematic for us," he explained congenially. "Your translations of our messages have forced us to change tactics more times than I care to admit. I'm sure you understand why we needed to take you out of the picture."

"Then you'd have to take all the linguists out of the picture, because I'm not the only who can read Chimaera."

He laughed. "Chimaera, huh? A fitting name, except that according to Greek mythology, the chimaera was a monster."

"So is your language," she retorted. "Or at least its purpose is."

Jiguang frowned. Varinia's gaze flitted to the guards, but they remained by the door.

"On the contrary, Ms Erdélyi. It is the West that is the true monster, spreading its inequalities and poisons all over the world."

"So your solution is to massacre innocent people?" she scoffed. "I'm only a linguist, but I hardly think that qualifies you to take the moral ground against the West."

He leant towards Varinia, his eyes suddenly hard. Her heart thumped in her chest, but she resisted the urge to reel back.

"Every revolution comes with casualties," he said sharply. "To create a better world, one must first cleanse it of the filth."

Again she forced herself from recoiling, but this time, she _was_ afraid of Jiguang. It was one thing to translate the messages and documents and news articles, but it was another thing to come face-to-face with the leader of The Cleansers. He may have been well-spoken and slight of build, but the conviction with which he spoke of his plot bordered on deranged. Varinia met his gaze, saw the utter determination in it. No. His conviction did not border on deranged; it _was_ deranged.

"There are other ways to bring about change," she suggested hesitantly. The memory of her pretending to be an MI5 agent flashed in her mind. Charlotte Winthrop was strong. Charlotte Winthrop was who Varinia needed to be right now. "Your plan won't work. There are people who can and will stop it."

Jiguang chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure they believe that," he said. "But we're everywhere. Just as your friends monitor us, we monitor them. How else do you think we knew where to find you?"

Varinia's stomach dropped. Her mind raced. Her heart beat frantically, fear squeezing it like a vise. There had to be a mole. Tariq's security systems were the most secure and sophisticated that existed, so it wasn't possible for Jiguang to have learned of MI5's activities in that way. He had to have had an informant, one who was close enough to Five, Six, or any of the other countries' secret services to know of their progress.

Her thoughts and emotions were in turmoil, but her expression reflected none of that, as she replied, "So you looked at my file. Big deal. We looked at yours, too." That was a lie, but she wanted to plant a seed of doubt in Jiguang's mind.

However, her words only seemed to amuse him, because he laughed loudly and stood.

"My dear Ms Erdélyi, I very much doubt that." He walked towards the door, talking as he went. "It is not my intention to harm you. Behave, and I _will_ not."

"Can you at least release these ties?" she asked. Her movement was restricted, and her shoulders and arms ached.

"Be a good girl, and I'll consider it." With a final smile, he left the room, the door shutting and locking behind him.

Varinia breathed deeply in an attempt to calm herself. Confined to the small, cheerless room, she felt panicked again and angry that she hadn't come up with a plan yet. She wondered if the others--if Lucas--were worried.

#

As a matter of fact, Lucas wasn't worried. He was on the verge of terrified. Initial investigations had yielded nothing, and Tariq could not trace Varinia because her mobile had remained at home. That meant her abduction had occurred suddenly and very soon after she'd entered her flat. Regret churned in his stomach. Hypothetical scenarios tormented him.

If only Lucas had gone up with her. If only he'd insisted they go back to his flat. Of all the nights The Cleansers could have chosen, they picked the one he and Varinia spent apart. He had been an agent for long enough to know that there was no such thing as coincidence. Someone had tipped off her abductors, and it had to have been a person intimately acquainted with the comings and goings of MI5 personnel.

The atmosphere in the office was tense. Conversation was utilitarian. Keyboards clacked, phones occasionally rang, but no headway had been made into locating Varinia. Forensics had swept the flat, but until the results came back, Lucas' hands were as figuratively tied as Varinia's were literally.

Or maybe not.

"Gulyanov," he said, walking into Harry's office. "He's the traitor. Varinia said he'd withheld information during Kolesnikov's interrogation."

Harry sighed and looked wearily up at his agent.

"Lucas, I share your suspicions, but we cannot accuse the Russian attaché of assisting terrorists without irrefutable evidence."

"What about all those times he 'lost' Kolesnikov? Or the withheld information?"

"You know as well as I that those wouldn't suffice," reasoned Harry. "Ruth is searching through the documents for anything that could incriminate him. But until that is found, we must conduct as unbiased an investigation as possible."

"Harry, I..." Lucas' expression faltered, his shoulders slumping forward. "I should have gone up with her. I should have taken better care of her." His voice wavered. "Her safety was my responsibility."

"Sit down, Lucas," his superior urged gently. The younger agent did. He covered his mouth with a hand and stared at a paper weight on the desk. "If The Cleansers hadn't abducted her then, they would have on another night." Lucas' gaze flicked up to his, the blue eyes hard. "I am only trying to say that it wasn't your fault. You can't be with Varinia in every hour of the day."

"But of all the times to leave her alone," Lucas protested. "At 3 AM, when the leader finally came out of the woodwork."

"You have the misfortune of hindsight," said Harry. "And that's dangerous right now. You need to focus and set aside your feelings for Varinia." At Lucas' surprised expression, Harry gave him a half-smile. "I'd suspected you two were involved since Ankara."

Lucas smiled wryly. "And I just confirmed it."

"Yes, but we'll talk about that later," promised Harry, growing serious again. "If you're going to be of any use to Varinia, you need to think of her as merely a colleague. Leave fear and guilt and affection out of it."

Lucas breathed deeply, his features evening out, and nodded.

"Let me know when the forensics come in," he said and returned to his desk.

There was an ache in his chest that was reminiscent of his intermittent bouts of hopelessness while at Lushanka. But like then, Lucas tapped into his training and cleared his heart and mind of everything that would hinder his ability to find Varinia. Including and especially his love for the linguist.

 


	20. Stagnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team makes some headway, while Varinia reflects upon her predicament. 
> 
> There will be _action_ next chapter. Lots of it.

Despite the delay in locating Varinia, there had been significant progress made on other fronts. With the plague samples Turkey provided, Dr. Gallagher and her colleagues had successfully created a vaccine and had found an antibiotic that was effective against the bacteria. The affected countries shared their research, until each country had a functioning vaccine and cure.

"Now all they need to do is manufacture the shot in the billions," Tariq quipped.

Ruth gave him a reproachful look. "Which will happen soon," she said. "For once, the pharmaceutical companies are playing nice with each other. They realise that it's in their benefit, as well, to cooperate."

"But will the vaccines be ready in time?" Lucas asked. "Germany, France, the UK, and now America have all been hit with minor epidemics. Thousands of people have already died."

"Gallagher says the vaccine's been fast-tracked past human trials, as they would take too long," replied Ruth. "Thus far, a few thousand have been administered to medical staff, and hospitals have received huge batches of the antibiotic. It sounds like we're finally catching up to The Cleansers."

The lift doors opened, and Dmitri, the newest member of the team, entered the room. After Lucas had returned to the Grid, Dmitri had joined the HazMat workers in his stead to locate active microbiology labs.

"How's the search going?" asked Lucas.

The man sighed. "Not well," he said wearily. They had all been going above and beyond, with little to show for their effort. "We've found one lab, but there are definitely more in the UK, because cases of the plague just keep popping up."

"Jiguang would have multiple labs," agreed Lucas. "He's been thorough in everything else."

"Incredibly so," remarked Harry, as he walked out of his office. "Forensics have sent over the results from Varinia's flat." He handed Lucas a sheet of paper containing various terms and numbers he didn't understand.

He did, however, understand the grim slant of his superior's mouth.

"Her abductors were painstakingly careful," Harry said. "The only DNA trail they left behind was in the form of dead skin cells, which are too fragmented to be of much use, except to differentiate between Varinia's DNA and that of her kidnappers."

"How many were there?" Dmitri asked.

"Two. At least one of whom was presumably male."

"And the other?" Ruth prompted.

"Unknown," replied Harry. "The only reason forensics can speculate at all is because they picked up half of a shoe print from the foyer."

"The Cleansers have grown more cautious," Tariq mused aloud. "When Kolesnikov searched Altan's flat, he left behind all sorts of genetic clues."

"Which means that someone high-level ordered her abduction," Lucas deduced. His expression darkened. "Jiguang."

Harry nodded. "That was my thinking, as well."

Lucas' gaze flicked to his superior's. It was cold and hard, but something akin to desperation flashed in it for an instant. The change was so quick that only Harry saw it.

"So we have nothing," said the agent, barely able to control his voice.

"Aside from the fact that Jiguang is the most likely instigator," reminded Harry, "yes, we have nothing."

"Not quite," Ruth responded brightly. Lucas looked at her, then at the projector screen. An Oriental man stared back at him. "The MSS sent this over just before Harry showed us the forensics report. His name is Zhu Xióng, but _we_ know him better as Qi Jiguang."

Hope filled Lucas when he read Jiguang's--or rather Xióng's--file.

"He's a UK citizen," he remarked, surprised. "With a London home address."

Harry raised his eyebrows, apparently sharing his agent's sentiment. "Why did the MSS come up with his file and we didn't?"

"Because Xióng hid his Chinese citizenship from the UK," Ruth replied.

"Ah-hah," murmured Tariq. "That explains why he didn't show up in any of my searches."

"We were using the wrong criteria," Ruth agreed. She scrolled through Xióng's file to the 'Background' section. "But Chinese intelligence wasn't," she said. "Xióng's parents were political activists back in China, so I guess the MSS automatically kept an eye on him."

"Just in case the apple didn't fall far from the tree," said Dmitri wryly.

Lucas smiled bitterly. "I'd say the apple was _thrown_ from the tree and landed in England."

#

Once the fear had worn off, Varinia stewed in frustration. She had never been good at waiting, and this helplessness was worse than all the other negative emotions she'd felt since waking up in her cell. For a while, she had tried to wriggle her wrists free from the zip-ties, but she'd only managed to rub them raw. At least it had been a way to pass the time, as opposed to sitting idly until she was rescued. Though chances were, Lucas had no idea where she was.

Well, that made two of them.

The only potentially useful information Varinia had gleaned was that she was still somewhere in the UK, perhaps even still in England. Snippets of _BBC News_ floated down the hall when the guards opened the door to deliver her meals. One such meal was currently perched in front of her, as were two of her human watchdogs. They glared at her impatiently as she rotated her sore wrists and stretched her aching arms. Meal times were the only time the zip-ties came off, and she took full advantage of them.

The door opened, admitting Jiguang. He glanced from Varinia to the untouched Salisbury steak on her plate.

"Not hungry?"

"Not really," she replied. "Funny how being drugged and held captive will ruin a person's appetite."

"Now, now," the man scolded, "it isn't as though you're being mistreated. Your situation could be far less comfortable."

Varinia snorted and held up her chafed wrists. "Let's switch places and see if you'll say the same thing then."

After the first day, her fear had morphed into irritation. She chose her words carefully, while observing Jiguang's reaction, but she did not cower. From her limited interactions with him, she had deduced that he would not harm her unless he had no other option. On the contrary, the man tended to regard her with amusement, as he did now.

"That, Ms Erdélyi, is self-inflicted," he remarked. "However, as you _have_ behaved well, I think we can leave the zip-ties off."

One of the agents, a sharp-nosed Russian woman, scowled but said nothing. From the bits of conversation Varinia had overheard, the male guards viewed her as harmless. But the female Russian agent watched her with a shrewdness that unnerved Varinia. She seemed to believe her capable of escape, which baffled the linguist.

"How generous of you," retorted Varinia.

The Russian agent narrowed her eyes but still remained silent. If _that_ woman were in charge instead of Jiguang, Varinia was sure her predicament would be far graver.

Jiguang grinned as he turned and walked towards the door. Glancing back at the tray of untouched food, he said flatly, "Better eat that before it gets cold."

And then Varinia was alone again. She cast a disdainful gaze at her cell door, before it settled on the Salisbury steak. Although she liked beef in general, she had never been partial to the dish. The roast potatoes and carrots, however, she ate.

As a second afternoon transitioned into evening, Varinia sat on the bed with her knees pulled up, her mind a jumble of thoughts. If she had worn trousers instead of a skirt yesterday, her mobile would have been in her pocket, not in her purse. Her abductors would have found it, of course, but maybe not immediately. There could have been enough time for Tariq to get a heading, at least.

This experience illuminated just how unequipped she was to foray into the world of espionage. If Varinia were a _real_ agent, she might already be free. She might have subdued her guards and sneaked away, like the spies in movies did. In fact, she might not have been kidnapped at all.

Varinia groaned and let her head fall onto her knees. Hypothetical scenarios were pointless and perhaps even dangerous. She was better served contemplating realistic plans of escape...or she would be, if she actually had any.


	21. Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a plan are born. 
> 
> This chapter contains a tiny bit of transliterated Russian (i.e., Russian written in the Latin, not the Cyrillic, alphabet). See the end note for the English translation. Also, dialogue that is italicized is spoken in Russian.

The morning dawned with an air of promise, but Varinia did not yet know it. Her awareness was limited to the small room, with its sparse and uncomfortable furnishings. She turned onto her back, staring up at the bland, white ceiling. The metal springs of the thin mattress poked into her ribs, but she hardly noticed them anymore. After initially recoiling from it, she'd also become insensate to the stale smell of her pillowcase.

This would be the third day of her incarceration. Varinia tried to bolster her spirits. MI5 was busy, she reasoned; the septicaemic plague took precedence over a lone linguist. Although she accepted and agreed with that logic, each passing hour nevertheless threatened to undo her optimism. Wracking her brain for an escape plan had yielded nothing, except the persistent reminder that she was woefully out of her depth. In the end, Varinia resigned herself--for the time being, at least--to the bleak reality of captivity.

It was during this pessimistic brooding that the cell door swung open. She looked up, grimacing when the sharp-nosed Russian agent entered. The woman, surly as ever, looked equally displeased to see Varinia.

" _Vstavay._ "

Varinia stared blankly at the woman.

" _Vystavay_ ," repeated the Russian, her commanding tone bordering on vicious.

"I'm sorry," apologised Varinia, "you're going to have to try that again in English, because I don't understand what you're saying."

Irritation flashed across the agent's face. She yanked Varinia off the bed, long nails digging cruelly into her flesh.

Still in Russian, the woman replied, " _We both know that you understand what I'm saying._ "

She bound Varinia's hands and led her from the cell. For the first time, Varinia was afforded a glimpse of her jail, and it was not what she had expected. The concrete walls were pockmarked; the paint, fading and stained. Discolored signs, written in English, directed a person left towards the auditorium or right towards the stairs. Lining the corridor were more rooms, some of which contained wooden desks. The agent guided her along too quickly to allow for more than a cursory observation, but Varinia thought they might be in an abandoned school. Its location, however, remained a mystery to her.

"Where are you taking me?"

The Russian did not reply, though Varinia hadn't expected her to.

"Am I being released?" Her guard snorted. "Okay, so that's a no. Are you taking me to Jiguang, then?"

" _You'll see,_ " the woman trilled, as they turned a corner.

A hint of trepidation filled Varinia. Every other time they'd interacted, the agent had been forbidding. But now, with her knowing smirk and sing-song tone, she seemed almost excited. And that was more disconcerting than her severity.

Terrible images flashed through Varinia's mind. She recalled a recent trip to the House of Terror in Budapest, where enemies of the fascist and communist regimes had been imprisoned. The building had witnessed decades of forced confessions and executions. In fact, its basement still bore the evidence of those bloody acts, which were currently in the forefront of Varinia's brain.

But when she passed beneath an archway, her brows furrowed in surprised confusion. What met her gaze was not the interrogation chamber her imagination had concocted, but a shower room, _sans_ tools of torture.

The Russian regarded her with scornful amusement.

" _I thought you might appreciate a shower_ ," she remarked, glancing at Varinia's hair. After being unwashed for three days, it had become greasy. " _But I can take you back to your cell, if you would prefer._ "

Abandoning her previous attempts at ignorance, Varinia grudgingly admitted, "A shower would be nice." Yet she hesitated. "What's the price?"

" _Privacy._ " The woman undid the zip-ties binding Varinia's hands and, with a flick of the wrist, ordered her to strip.

Varinia did, but as she was unbuttoning her blouse, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the room. She froze, her heart sinking. The linguist did not have to turn around to know that those footfalls belonged to a man. She looked at the female agent again, and her cruel smile made Varinia's blood run cold. Privacy was indeed the price, and more.

" _It gets dull around here, so the men need entertainment,_ " the woman explained casually. " _Undress, linguist_."

Varinia's eyes blazed with anger and indignation. "No. A shower isn't worth this humiliation."

By now, the man had joined his colleague, and Varinia recognised him as her other warden. He chuckled, but the female agent's humour had vanished.

" _That's for me to decide, not you_ , _and I've decided that a shower_ is _worth the humiliation,_ " she said coldly. " _Now take off your clothes, or Anton will take them off for you._ " Another unkind smile followed. _"And while I'm sure he would enjoy that, I very much doubt that you would._ "

Varinia glanced from one guard to the other. Anton flashed her a lascivious smirk and started towards her.

"Fine," she snapped. The man scowled but kept his distance, though he watched raptly as Varinia began undressing again. Her hands trembled, and she could barely pull down the zipper of her skirt, but soon she was standing naked before the two agents. Resisting the urge to cover herself, Varinia strode over to one of the showers, lamenting the lack of a partition to shield her from Anton's keen, lustful gaze.

She showered quickly and efficiently, only allowing herself a moment to revel in the hot water. The sooner she finished, the sooner she would be past the demoralising experience. After Varinia had donned the scrub-like top and bottoms her guards provided, the female agent bound her hands again to lead her back to the cell. On his way out, Anton brushed against her, his front grazing her backside. She flinched away from the tangible bulge in his trousers.

Running her fingers through her wet, tangled hair, Varinia sat down on the floor and cried.

#

The female guard returned around noon. She threw a black hood in Varinia's direction and ordered her to put it on. Glaring, the linguist complied. There would be a time for defiance, but this was not it.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by the coarse fabric covering her head. "Will I be providing another man his daily entertainment?"

The woman secured Varinia's wrists more roughly than usual but didn't reply. It seemed that whatever patience she had possessed for the linguist was gone.

So they walked in relative silence, Varinia occasionally tripping over her too-long trousers. That appeared to irritate the agent, because her grip became increasingly bruising. Varinia protested, but her complaints fell on apathetic ears. By the time they reached their destination, her arms ached and she was sweating under the hood.

When it was finally removed, she breathed a sigh of relief, then blinked stupidly at the sight before her. She was standing at the entrance to a large, rectangular room, with tall bookshelves lining the walls and a skylight fitted into the sloped ceiling. Sunlight shone through the lone window, bathing the center of the room in a warm glow. Varinia longed to bask beneath it.

"Ah, Ms Erdélyi," greeted Jiguang. "Welcome to my private, little bunker. Though it's much nicer than Hitler's, wouldn't you agree?" Following her gaze towards the skylight, he smiled. "I do apologise for keeping you locked in that cheerless cell, but, alas, it is necessary to our cause."

"I'm sure," Varinia said coldly. "What the hell am I doing here, Jiguang?"

He gestured to the table set with roast chicken, potatoes, and a medley of vegetables.

"Joining me for lunch, of course," he replied brightly. "Release her restraints, Marlina. She's going to need her hands." The female agent--Marlina--reluctantly obeyed. "Thank you. You can go now."

Varinia could feel Marlina's glare on the back of her head.

"Please, sit," said Jiguang, pulling out her chair. Varinia cast a suspicious glance at the food. He chuckled. "It is perfectly safe, I assure you. You may be my prisoner, but that doesn't mean we have to be barbaric about it."

Deciding to humour him, she took the proffered seat. If he had wanted her dead, there were more efficient methods of accomplishing that than to poison her lunch. Unless, of course, the man took a sadistic pleasure in watching others suffer. She glanced at the meal again.

"Tell that to your henchmen," Varinia said acidly.

She speared one of the potatoes onto her fork and cautiously ate it. When she felt no adverse effects, she tasted the roast chicken thigh. It was delicious, though she would never admit that to Jiguang.

He frowned. "Have Anton and Marlina been mistreating you?"

"Shouldn't _you_ know if they have?" Varinia retorted, arching a brow. "As their superior, I would have thought they'd report everything to you."

Jiguang's fork hand twitched as he cut into his meat. Despite his confident and jovial front, he was evidently less in control of his underlings than he had supposed. Varinia wiped her mouth to conceal a smirk.

"I will speak to them," he said tersely. Then, just as suddenly as it had waned, his cheerful demeanor returned. "It really is regrettable that we are on opposing sides. With a polyglot, we could constantly alter Chimaera or create an unbreakable code." As Jiguang assessed her, a small smile formed on his face. "You deciphered Chimaera in a few days, did you not? My linguists are good, but none of them could learn a whole, new language _that_ quickly."

Varinia struggled to hide her disdain. "I doubt there exists a truly unbreakable code. Even Enigma was eventually cracked," she reminded him. "Besides, I'm one of the spreaders of your so-called Western poison."

He flashed her a look of amusement. "Oh come now, Ms Erdélyi. You know as well as I that The Cleansers are comprised of more than just Easterners and Russians." Actually, Varinia hadn't known. But now she did. "Westerners are welcome to join if their ideals are in sync with ours."

"Well then," she remarked, "that's where the problem lies, isn't it?"

"I _could_ coerce you," Jiguang said casually. "We could really use your skills."

She scoffed. "What makes you believe coercion would be effective? If you need my skills as much as you say do, you wouldn't harm me, because then I couldn't work."

"True," conceded Jiguang. He paused to take a sip of water, observing her curiously over the rim of his wine glass. "But we don't need Lucas North's skills."

Varinia paled. Her fork hovered in front of her mouth, as she stared at the man sitting across from her. Although she regained her composure almost immediately, she knew Jiguang had seen her falter.

"Abducting him won't be as easy as it was me," she pointed out. Nausea bubbled up in her stomach, and the prematurely swallowed broccoli didn't help "He's a lot tougher than I am."

"He certainly is," agreed the man. "I know all about his eight-year incarceration in Russia. To not only survive that, but to come out of it and continue his work is a testament to his perseverance." He took a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. "But if the Russians managed to capture him, I'm sure my agents could, as well."

Varinia didn't reply. There was nothing to say. She could bandy words with Jiguang for the rest of their meal, feigning a cool and composed exterior, but if The Cleansers threatened Lucas, she would almost certainly buckle. She knew it. Jiguang knew it. To even attempt to hide that fact was pointless.

So she changed the subject.

"For someone who despises the West, I'm surprised your headquarters are _in_ the West."

"How do you know we're still in the West?" he countered, with a wry smile.

"Just a hunch," she said, shrugging. "Of course, since I was drugged, my abductors could have hustled me onto a plane for a long-haul flight," acknowledged Varinia. "But somehow I doubt they did." She neglected to mention the English signs on the way to the showers or the snippets of _BBC News_ broadcasts about England.

"Well, if you are indeed correct, then what better way to bring down the West than to do it from within?" He grinned. "There's something quite poetic about that, no?"

"I suppose," Varinia said noncommittally. "But it also increases the chance that you'll be discovered."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Apparently not."

Varinia laughed, and, for the second time that day, Jiguang's expression darkened. Taking advantage of his distraction, she pressed on.

"You can deploy as many of your plague canisters and kidnap as many of our linguists as you want, but MI5 will eventually stop you. They've neutralised even bigger threats."

She had no idea if that was true, but the comment had the desired effect. An arrogant sneer marred Jiguang's features.

"For someone who works in British secret services, you are shockingly naive," he mocked. "Who do you think told us about your relationship with Lucas North? How do you think Kolesnikov repeatedly 'eluded' the FSB agents tailing him? You didn't really believe all your contacts were loyal to MI5, did you?" Varinia's eyes widened slightly, and Jiguang chuckled. "Oh, it's not nearly as sinister as it sounds," he placated. "Our source is not a member of The Cleansers, per say, so much as a periodic sympathiser."

"You put an awful lot of trust in a periodic sympathiser," she observed. "What's to prevent him from turning on _you_?"

Jiguang gave her a pointed look. "What do you think? America."

"Yeah, yeah, America's universally hated," she said. "But it's also universally regarded as potentially dangerous for a reason. It won't just roll over while your organisation tries to destroy it." Now it was her turn to pause for a sip of water. "In fact, none of the countries you've targeted will."

"And Hungary?"

Varinia felt nauseated again. Was Jiguang implying that The Cleansers would attack Hungary next?

"It won't either," she said, her tone firm but her grip on the glass loose. "It never has."

"Because resistance has served it so well in the past," he said dryly.

From the way he watched her, Varinia realised Jiguang was baiting her, like she had done with him. But she, unlike he, would _not_ bite.

Pushing back her chair, she stood.

"May I go now?" He regarded her blandly, then nodded. Varinia picked up her cup for a final drink, but it slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor. "Shit! I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, as she crouched to pick up the pieces.

Jiguang waved an impatient hand at her. "Oh, do stand up," he snapped. "The maid will take care of it."

He gestured towards the door. Marlina entered the room, smiling in satisfaction. She was probably hoping that Jiguang would treat Varinia with less leniency for breaking one of his ornate wine glasses. And perhaps he would. But with any luck, Varinia would not be around to find out.

Before Marlina reached her, Varinia surreptitiously stole a piece of the broken glass. It fit perfectly into her palm, where she held it loosely while the agent readied her for transport. For the first time since donning the hideous garb, Varinia was glad it was oversized. The sleeves fell past her hands, effectively concealing her secret weapon.

Despite the unpleasantness of her situation, a tendril of hope blossomed in the linguist's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vystavay_ is Russian for "get up!".


	22. Broom Closets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom.
> 
>  **Note:** I changed my name on here so that it would be consistent with my Tumblr, but I am Szerafina7. Or was.

Varinia had never put much stock in luck, but now she prayed for it. Standing motionless, her heart thumping against her ribs, she waited while Marlina released her restraints and removed the hood. The instant the agent's face came into view, Varinia struck. Her arm flew forward and up so suddenly that Marlina could not avoid it. Sharp glass met yielding skin and carved a deep gash across the woman's left cheek that extended from jaw to eye. Temporarily blinded, Marlina staggered aside.

The attack had impeded her, but it would not subdue her. Marlina would soon recover, and without the element of surprise, Varinia stood no chance against her. A quick survey of the room confirmed her worst fear. Anything that could be used as a weapon was either bolted to the floor or was too heavy for the linguist to lift. Her sole defence was the piece of broken glass, and _that_ ploy would not work a second time.

Another glance alerted her to the gravity of the situation. Though still in pain, the Russian was quickly regaining her composure. Varinia had to act. She dropped her shoulder and ran full-speed into Marlina, unbalancing her with sheer momentum. The agent fell backwards, her head impacting the concrete floor with a sickening _crack_.

Varinia watched the woman warily, half-expecting her to leap up. But when she didn't, the linguist slumped against the wall, before her legs could give way. The adrenaline that had coursed through her during the altercation was dissipating, leaving a throbbing headache in its wake.

She had never injured anyone in her life, until now. She had never had cause to, until now. But, she reckoned, Marlina deserved it. She had tormented her and had probably done far worse to others. Although that reasoning eased Varinia's conscience, it did nothing to quell her nausea. Averting her gaze, she tried to forget the sound Marlina's skull had made when it hit the floor. She was only partly successful.

Now that the deed was done, Varinia needed to think. Incapacitating the agent had bought her some time, but time for what? Escape remained unlikely, because she couldn't get past any guards she might encounter. The attempt would only lead to recapture, and an unforgiving one, at that. But perhaps if she could sneak out of the building, or find a place to hide.

Feeling calmer, she finally loosened her grip around the glass shard and winced at the pain in her hand. In the heat of battle, she hadn't noticed that the sharp edge had cut her palm, as well as Marlina's face. Nevertheless, when Varinia looked at the woman's still, supine body, she recognised just how fortunate she had been. If she'd reacted even a split-second too slowly, it might have been _her_ lying unconscious, instead of Marlina.

But she did not dwell on that. There were things to do, first and foremost to contact MI5.

After ensuring that Marlina was indeed alive yet not liable to wake any time soon, Varinia found her mobile and dialed a well-known number. As the familiar voice filtered through the earpiece, she nearly started to cry.

"Lucas," came the choked greeting, "it's me."

" _Varinia?_ " intoned Lucas, sounding both bewildered and relieved. " _Varinia, my God_ , _are you all right? Where are you?_ "

"I'm fine," she assured him. And it was true. Merely hearing Lucas' voice was comforting. "But I have no idea where I am. Can Tariq trace this signal?"

" _He's already on it_ ," said Lucas. " _How are you able to call me?_ "

Varinia's gaze darted to Marlina. The blood on her cheek was beginning to dry, but the skin around the gash looked angry and red.

"I...borrowed my guard's phone."

" _You did_ what?"

"I borrowed my guard's phone," she repeated, "after I knocked her unconscious."

" _You knocked your guard unconscious_ ," he said flatly.

"Yes."

Lucas was silent for a second. In the background, Varinia could hear the team's activities--Harry's directives, Ruth's suggestions, and Tariq's updates. They, too, were heartening.

"Harry wants to know if you've learned anything."

From his curt tone, it was clear that Lucas did not like his superior's request. She could have smiled at his concern.

"Well, I learned that I'm being held by Jiguang in an abandoned building, which is possibly a school," she said. "I've met him, Lucas, and he's hell-bent on taking down the West."

" _We know that, Varinia_."

"No, Lucas, you don't," she argued. "England and Germany are just the precursors. His real target is America."

" _It'll be okay. The scientists have created a vaccine and found an antibiotic that works,_ " he told her. " _And now, thanks to you, we can seize Jiguang and stop his plot once and for all_."

"I hope so," she said. "He also confirmed that Gulyanov is the traitor."

" _He said that_?" asked Lucas, surprised.

"Yes, though not in so many words. Gulyanov's not a member of The Cleansers, but because the organisation wants to destroy America, Russia either turned a blind eye, like with Kolesnikov, or fed Jiguang information."

" _I've got the location_ ," Varinia heard Tariq announce. _"She's in a town called Adlington, in Lancashire._ "

There was a slight commotion on the other end, then Lucas said, _"Ruth's already called CO19, but it'll take us about four hours to reach you. Is there somewhere safe where you can wait?_ "

"I don't know. I'll look after we hang up," she answered. "But you can't come."

" _Don't be ridiculous-_ "

"Lucas, listen to me," she snapped. "Jiguang knows about us. He wants me to work for The Cleansers, and I think he plans on using you to persuade me."

That made him pause. While it was disconcerting that everyone seemed to be aware of his relationship with Varinia, it was terrifying that a madman could use it to his advantage. But there would be opportunities later to ruminate on that.

When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with amusement.

" _This is not the first time someone has threatened me, Varinia._ _Besides, I won't be going in alone._ "

She heard the _ding_ of the lift and could only assume that Lucas was boarding it. Her heart leapt into her throat.

"Lucas, you can't come," she insisted, her commanding tone giving way to a pleading one. "It's too risky. I've spoken with the man on multiple occasions. He's deranged, but he's also managed to unleash a plague upon three countries. If he means to use you to blackmail me, he'll probably succeed."

" _I won't sit back while someone else rescues you_ ," he said firmly. " _But I promise I won't venture off alone_."

Lucas was silent, waiting for her to argue, but she merely sighed in resignation.

"Fine, but if you get yourself captured, I will never forgive you."

She glanced at Marlina again. The woman still hadn't moved, but Varinia knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed her prolonged absence and came to investigate.

"I have to go," she said, a twinge of regret arcing through her. "Don't ring this number. Jiguang can't know he's been discovered."

" _I won't_ ," he assured her, and she heard the smile in his voice. " _Delete this call from the mobile, and find somewhere safe to hide. I'll be there as soon as I can, Varinia._ "

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "Okay."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Varinia did as Lucas bade, then replaced the phone where she had found it and plucked Marlina's keys from her belt.

Unlocking the cell door, Varinia peered down the corridor, stepped carefully out, and headed for the stairs.

#

The drive to Adlington seemed interminable. Every hour that passed increased the chance of Varinia's recapture, if it hadn't occurred already. Lucas glanced at the clock. About thirty more minutes until they reached the town. But thirty more minutes was not soon enough. He stepped on the gas pedal, earning an arched brow from Dimitri.

"At this rate, we'll get there way before CO19," he commented lightly. Sirens blared as an ambulance sped on the southbound side. "Unless we get pulled over."

"Perk of the job, mate," Lucas said, with a half-smirk. He patted the pocket that held his MI5 ID. "Flash your badge, and the cops won't write you a ticket. It's a bureaucratic nightmare for them, especially if we're on a case."

Dimitri grinned. "I always knew you military intelligence types were pampered."

Twenty minutes came and went, but they were still miles away from their destination. Lucas was growing increasingly restless. Looking into his rearview mirror, he saw that one of the SUVs bearing the CO19 officers was close behind him. Good, he wouldn't have to wait to enter the building.

The motorway exited onto a one-lane road that was surprisingly congested for such a small, bucolic place. Even Dimitri, who was generally more laid-back than Lucas, alternated his attention between the clock and the GPS. He may not have had the personal stake in the operation that Lucas did, but he understood the terror threat all too well.

Once the traffic had cleared, Lucas threw the car into fourth gear and followed the directions to Varinia's coordinates. True to the linguist's conjecture, her jail was indeed an abandoned school.

"A Chinese terrorist with his headquarters in an English school," remarked Dimtri, as he and Lucas got out of the car. "A bit anti-climatic, don't you think?"

Lucas' lips twitched, despite his impatience to find Varinia.

"Were you expecting a sinister lair?"

"Or something equally clichéd," Dimitri agreed. "But then, I suppose, James Bond has all the fun."

"Gets the girl, too," added Lucas casually.

He was about to inquire where his backup was, when three SUVs pulled up and the CO19 officers spilled out. After splitting them into groups of six, he assigned them sections to search and led his team towards the west wing. He had no idea where Varinia was now, but Tariq had supplied him with the set of coordinates from where she'd called.

That was where he would start.

#

Varinia had chosen random broom closets as her hiding spots. She'd considered all sorts of fanciful options, like climbing into an air duct, but although she was small enough to fit inside one, she was also too small to reach one. Besides, that was only ever feasible in the movies, not in reality. Other locations she had vetoed were classrooms and toilets. The former were too open; the latter, too few. She flitted from closet to closet, evading Jiguang's agents as they searched for her. Unlike Varinia, who was petite and wearing the soft-soled shoes provided by Marlina, her pursuers were big and loud. When she heard them approaching her corridor, she doubled back and hid in a broom closet they had already examined.

That was how she found herself squeezed between dusty cardboard boxes again. The light bulb had died long ago, enrobing her seated figure in darkness. Trying not to imagine how filthy the floor must be, Varinia leant back against a box and brought her knees up to her chest. While not relaxed, she was curiously calm and rather proud of herself for eluding capture thus far. Perhaps she was not so hopeless after all, though she did not delude herself by believing she could best any of the agents in fair combat. With Marlina, luck and surprise had been her saving graces. If either had been absent, she would likely be in dire straits at the moment.

Marlina. Her thoughts lingered unbidden on the Russian woman. Was she already recovered and hunting the linguist with a fierce vengeance? Or had she suffered a more serious head injury than Varinia supposed? She was no doctor, but even she knew that head injuries were less about the skull than the brain. If Marlina's brain had collided hard enough with the inside of her skull, she could very well have sustained a cerebral hemorrhage. Was it possible that she had killed the female agent in her attempt to escape?

Varinia wanted to appreciate the irony, but her stomach was tied up in knots. The scene replayed in her mind--the sights, the sounds, the sensations. Shock on the sharp-nosed face, followed by a flash of fear and pain. Blood dripping from a long gash on a pale cheek, fingers smearing the blood as they assessed the damage. A gasp, a shout, a _thump_ , a _crack_. Varinia could not remember which of them had gasped and which of them had shouted. But she remembered the _crack_. It haunted her now, as did Marlina's still, supine body lying on the concrete floor.

Yet Varinia did not feel remorse, only disbelief, tinged with horror that she was capable of such violence. It had come down to her and Marlina, a woman who'd handled her roughly and subjected her to humiliation. A woman who, if permitted, would be outright cruel towards her.

No, Varinia did not feel remorse; she felt satisfaction. And that alarmed her.

The sound of footsteps wrenched the linguist from her reverie. Maneuvering through the darkened room as quickly and quietly as possible, she paused, listening, her hand wrapped around the doorknob. Jiguang's agents always came in groups of two or three, periodically murmuring in their assorted languages. But _these_ people were greater in number and moving silently down the corridor.

Peeking through the keyhole, she waited for them to pass, her heart thudding from a mix of anxiety and hope. As the newcomers walked by, Varinia glimpsed their clothing. It was the black uniform of a police force, complete with a bullet-proof vest. None of Jiguang's men or women wore that garb. But she hesitated, until she saw a pair of jean-clad legs. There was no mistaking those thighs or arse.

Varinia opened the door and emerged from the closet to half a dozen guns aimed at her. One of those guns belonged to Lucas North.

"Varinia," he said, looking somewhat amazed but relieved. He lowered his weapon, as did the CO19 officers. He scanned her figure, searching for signs of injury or mistreatment. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'm fine, but I'd really like to get out of here."

"I'm sure you would," Lucas replied, snaking an arm around her waist. He wanted to do so much more, but that would have to wait. "We need to find Xióng first. Do you know where he is?"

"You mean Jiguang?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Right, you still know him as Qi Jiguang. His real name is Zhu Xióng, but that's irrelevant."

"I know _where_ he is, but I have no idea how to get to him." Varinia's eyes flashed in irritation. "My guard shoved a hood on my head for the journey."

Lucas' jaw clenched, but when he spoke, there was no hint of anger in his tone.

"Okay, then let's get you to the car, and on the way, you can describe Xióng's location."

As they traversed the corridors, Lucas allowed the CO19 officers to lead, while he walked with Varinia, his arm still wrapped securely around her waist. She leaned into him, and he longed to embrace her, to make her forget about the past three days. Every so often, they heard gunshots, and Varinia tensed each time.

"They're far away, love," he said softly, so that only the linguist could hear. "We're not going near them."

She nodded but didn't reply. Lucas noted the concentration on her face. She was thinking but also listening, her attention shifting from the path ahead of her to the intersecting corridors.

"Xióng's people have already checked this area," she told him. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have hidden here."

A rush of pride filled him--affection, too--, as he realised what she had done.

"You didn't stay in one place. You tailed his agents."

She shrugged. "It seemed like the most logical thing to do."

"It was," Lucas agreed, unable to stop his smile. "You also stole your guard's mobile. Maybe you _should_ be an agent, after all."

Varinia was about to reply, when four men appeared around the corner. They immediately started shooting, as did Lucas and the CO19 officers.

"Varinia, get down!" Lucas ordered and blocked her body with his.

One of the officers got hit in the bicep, but Xióng's troupe suffered greater losses. Two agents were dead, one was soon to be dead, and a fourth was wounded in the leg. After a quick glance at Varinia, who appeared to be shaken but unharmed, Lucas approached the last man and kicked the gun out of his reach.

Crouching down to his level, he demanded, "Where's Xióng?"

The man tried to laugh, but it was more akin to a pained huff.

"You really think I'd tell you that?" he retorted, in accented English.

"You will," Lucas said, "unless you'd prefer a bit of coaxing first." His free hand came to rest on the man's thigh, mere centimeters from the bullet hole. He pressed down, and to the man's dismay, a stream of blood gushed out. "So, I'll ask you again. Where's Xióng?"

"D-downstairs," managed the man. "The headmaster's office in the northeast section."

"There, now that wasn't hard," Lucas commended and tapped his earpiece. "Dimitri, Xióng's in the northeast wing. Look for the headmaster's office."

" _Isn't that a bit obvious?_ "

Lucas eyed the injured man, who grimaced in pain but said, "That's where he is."

"You heard him. My informant is in no position to lie."

" _Gotcha,_ " came the knowing response. " _Will contact you when I find Xióng._ "

Lucas stood, motioning to the CO19 officers.

"Stay with him until Xióng is in custody." He fixed the Cleanser with a final, cold glare. "You better hope that your leader is where you say he is, or you'll be seeing me again." Then he turned his attention to Varinia, and his demeanor instantly softened. "Come on, we're not far from the exit."

She followed Lucas, sidestepping the casualties. The two dead men stared up at her with open, unseeing eyes. A sick feeling crept into her stomach, and as they descended the stairs, Varinia was grateful for Lucas' warm hand on the small of her back.

"I'd hoped we would get out of here without trouble," he remarked, almost as if he had read her thoughts. Although, the rigid line of her back had probably betrayed them.

"Well, at least now I can say I've lived through a _James Bond_ film, right?" Her smile was strained. Lucas noticed but snorted nonetheless. "You know, I could have led you to Xióng's lair."

"Oh? I thought you said you were hooded."

"I was," she affirmed, "but maybe my feet remember the route. Do you want to try?"

Lucas' refusal was firm and swift. "No, Varinia, I don't. I want to get you to the car and back to London. Besides, apparently he has plans to use me as blackmail."

"Yeah, he does," she said quietly. The fear she'd experienced when Xióng told her returned, and Varinia was anxious to be outside. "How much farther?"

"A few hundred feet," he said, opening the door.

They were greeted by a forest bathed in the waning light of dusk. Varinia stopped and inhaled deeply. Only now did she realise how stale the air inside the building had been. When she glanced at Lucas, he was watching her with such sadness in his eyes that her heart ached from it.

"I did the same thing when I left Lushanka." He took her hand and led her towards the car. Once she was situated in the passenger seat, Lucas knelt in front of her, taking her other hand, as well. Before Varinia could snatch it away, he turned it over, palm-side up. "Did they do this to you?"

She shook her head. "No, I did it to myself." He looked alarmed, and she laughed for the first time in three days. "Remember I told you I'd rendered my guard unconscious? Well, the only reason I'd been able to do that was because I'd sliced her face with a glass shard first."

His brow arched in amusement. "You cut your guard, then pushed her over?"

"More or less," Varinia said, grinning. "There _may_ have been a running start. She was a lot taller than me, so it wasn't that hard to upset her center of gravity."

"And I'm sure the gash on her face helped," quipped Lucas. "I'm surprised at you, love."

"So was Marlina."

He smiled and lifted her injured palm to his lips. "Yes, I can imagine." Then he sobered. "You were fortunate, Varinia. It could've ended badly for you."

"I know, Lucas," she said, sighing. "But I'd gotten tired of waiting to be rescued. I had to do _some_ thing."

"Don't mistake my concern for criticism. I think you made the right decision." He kissed her palm once more and got into the driver's side. "Truthfully, I don't know when we would've found you. There was no trail, nothing to help us pinpoint your location. We wouldn't have even considered Adlington."

Varinia looked out the window, at the sparse forest and the edge of the small town beyond it.

"I wonder why Xióng chose this place."

"I don't know," said Lucas. "Maybe-"

At that moment, the door of the building flew open, and Zhu Xióng himself ran through. Lucas was out of the car in the blink of an eye, his gun trained on the Chinese man. Varinia followed his lead, unlocking the glove compartment and pulling out the extra gun Lucas kept there.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She shot him a glare. "I _am_ trained to use this, remember?"

Their attention, however, was diverted by Xióng, who was sedately walking towards them, as though two guns weren't aimed at his chest.

"Lucas North," he greeted congenially, "what a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm a bit of a fan, you see."

"He is actually," murmured Varinia.

"I can't say the admiration is reciprocated," Lucas retorted. "But it's a pleasure to meet you, too, if only because you've saved us the trouble of finding you."

Xióng smiled, and Varinia knew he was humouring them. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Your officers have been efficient," the Chinese man admitted. "But they don't know this building like I do. It wasn't difficult to elude them." His gaze shifted to Varinia, and his smile widened. "My dear Ms Erdélyi," he chirped, "it appears I have underestimated you. Marlina _did_ warn me, but I ignored her. She's alive, by the way, in case you were wondering."

Varinia's grip on the Glock tightened, her index finger poised on the trigger.

"That's a pity," she said brusquely. "What are you playing at, Xióng?"

"Playing at?" he repeated, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "You think this is a game?"

"If it is, you've lost," said Lucas. With his Beretta still raised, he approached Xióng. The Chinese man didn't attempt to flee or even to resist as Lucas neared him. Varinia did not trust that.

And she was right not to, for the next instant, Anton emerged from the trees, his gun locked on Lucas. A shot rang out.

But it was not Lucas who clutched his chest in agony; it was Anton. He stared at Varinia in disbelief, then collapsed to the ground. In an instant, Lucas was on Xióng, securing his wrists with a zip-tie. Alerted by the sound of gunshots, CO19 officers flooded from the building, and Lucas handed Xióng over to them in favour of attending to Varinia.

She was standing by the open car door, on the verge of hyperventilation. She looked pale and fragile, her features contorted in panic. Lucas sat her down and gently coaxed the Glock from her hands.

"Just breathe, Varinia," he soothed, rubbing her arms and shoulders. "It's over now. Xióng's in custody, and you're safe."

His words and touch seemed so distant, but she clung to them, as she focused on her breathing. Soon it was under control, and color re-entered her cheeks.

"I think he's dead," she said finally, her voice small and toneless. "I'm not even sure he meant to kill you, since Xióng wanted you alive. But I just acted. If he had hurt you, I-" Varinia met his gaze, her green eyes shining with tears. "I'm not sorry, Lucas, not even if I've killed him."

He cupped her cheek and shook his head. "That's okay," he reassured her. "There are a lot of bad people in the world, and it's our job to stop them. It's okay not to feel guilty for that."

"Be that as it may, I'd rather not have to do that again," she said dryly.

Lucas breathed a silent sigh of relief, the hint of humour in her reply alleviating some of his unease.

Bending down to kiss her forehead, he gave Varinia a teasing half-smile.

"But then who will watch my back when we're apprehending the fanatics?"


	23. Hot Sauce and Scrambled Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter had TOO. MUCH. PLOT. So, this one has _no_ plot. Enjoy!

For the drive to London, Dimitri had opted to ride in one of the SUVs to keep an eye on Xióng. Not that he could go anywhere, with his hands tied and half a dozen CO19 officers crowding him, but it was always prudent to err on the side of caution. Xióng, though, was only part of the reason for his decision. From the moment they were reunited, Dimitri had sensed a camaraderie between Lucas and Varinia which seemed to surpass that of work colleagues. While neither agent nor linguist had shown it, Dimitri suspected they would rather be alone.

If he would have looked back at Varinia afterwards, he'd have seen the relief on her face. But by then, Dimitri had joined the officers. Lucas, however, _had_ noticed it and smiled.

Now they were sat in their respective seats, one of Lucas' hands on the wheel and the other clasping Varinia's. She was staring out the window, watching the streetlamps pass by in an orange-yellow blur. He was reminded of his own return to London, his head braced against the glass, making small talk about tea and chips with Harry. That had only been two years ago, but it seemed a lifetime away.

"Harry will want to debrief you immediately," he said. "Are you up for that? I could try to convince him to postpone it till tomorrow morning."

"I'm okay, Lucas," she assured him, squeezing his hand in gratitude. "I wasn't treated awfully, you know. There was no abuse, unless you count Marlina's surly attitude as abuse. I was given plenty of food and water, and I even had a shower."

Her expression faltered slightly and just for an instant, but Lucas saw it.

"Tell me."

Varinia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed. Of course he would pick up on her discomfort. He was a spy, after all, and she lacked a poker face.

"I had an audience during my shower," she said flatly. "Marlina was there."

"Who else?" She didn't respond. He released her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, observing her closely. "Who else was there, Varinia?"

"Anton." Before he could ask another question, she explained, "Anton was my other guard. He's the man who tried to shoot you outside."

"And he watched you shower," Lucas stated.

Varinia nodded. "But he didn't touch me." Then she paused, looking stricken. "God, why the hell am I defending him? Why the hell am I defending _them_? They kidnapped me and stuck me a cell that didn't even have a bathroom attached to it. Marlina was a bitch, Anton was a twat, and Xióng was a pontificating mental case."

Despite his urge to inflict pain upon Varinia's captors, Lucas' lips twitched at her descriptions of them. He was also relieved that she was not more traumatised by her experience. The aftershock was inevitable, but until she could properly cope with it, anger and disgust were preferable.

"Are you hungry?" Her brows rose at the sudden change of topic. "We can discuss this in more detail later," he clarified.

"Not right now, but I'm sure I'll be hungry after the debriefing," she replied. "Are we close?"

"About thirty minutes." His gaze flitted to her, and he saw that she had her bottom lip between her teeth. Lucas was familiar enough with her mannerisms to recognise the nervous habit. He took his left hand off the wheel again and rested it on her shoulder. "Harry will ask you some questions about Xióng--how did he behave, what did he say?--, things like that. Just answer them as best you can."

"What if he thinks I spilled state secrets to Xióng?" she asked, with genuine concern. Lucas could have laughed.

"I promise you he doesn't," he said, smiling fondly at her.

She looked at him, noted his amusement at her expense, and scowled.

"He wanted me to work for The Cleansers," reminded Varinia, a touch defensively. "I know I'm not as valuable as others, like you, for example, but I'm not _completely_ useless either."

Now he did laugh, softly and accompanied by a caress of her cheek.

"I wasn't implying that you were," he placated, pleased that his touch seemed to dispel her frown. "I only said what I did because Harry trusts you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have sent you out into the field or shared so much vital intel with you. He knows you wouldn't betray 'state secrets'."

"Sorry," she sighed, as she slumped further into the seat. "I think the shock of the past three days is finally catching up to me. While I was in Adlington, I tried to stay optimistic, so I focused as little as possible on where I was and why. I guess all those repressed emotions are coming to the fore now."

Lucas nodded in sympathy--and in empathy. He remembered all too well the suffocating surges of emotion, the paralysing flashbacks, and he hated Xióng even more for causing Varinia distress. His hand slid down her arm to clasp her fingers in a show of silent support.

"God, listen to me," she scoffed. "Going on about my three-day captivity when you endured _eight_ years in Russian prisons. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I be so selfish and thoughtless?"

"Shhh," he cooed and gently rubbed his thumb over her palm. "This is not a contest over who suffered more, Varinia. I was trained for this, or at least for the possibility of this, but you weren't. Don't even _think_ you have less of a right to be shaken by your experience."

She inhaled deeply, held her breath, then exhaled slowly. When Varinia squeezed his hand, he knew she had heard and accepted his words. Just in time, too, for he was turning into the parking garage of Thames House.

As they boarded the lift, Lucas bent down to kiss her forehead.

"Remember, tell Harry the truth and you'll be fine."

#

Forty minutes later, Lucas and Varinia were back in the car again. He observed her, searching for signs of panic or anxiety, but, to his relief, found none. In fact, she seemed calm and almost relaxed. For someone without training, Varinia had handled the debriefing well. Naturally, Harry had gone easier on her because of her lack of previous experience, but some of the questions had been both intrusive and specific.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "But I'm not ready to go back to my flat yet. Can I spend the night at yours, please?"

"Of course, Varinia. You don't have to ask," he assured her. Turning on the car, Lucas took a right, instead of a left, out of the parking garage, since their flats were in opposite directions.

"Thanks. I really didn't savour the prospect of sleeping alone tonight."

"Me neither," he agreed. "Of you _or_ I sleeping alone."

Though the drive to Lucas' flat only lasted about twenty minutes, Varinia struggled to remain awake. She followed him upstairs and immediately curled up on the couch, bringing a smile to his face. After he had divested himself of his coat and shoes, he joined her.

Kneeling by her side, he asked, "Do you want to eat something or go straight to bed?" He leant in to kiss her neck, breathing in her familiar scent. During Varinia's absence, Lucas had felt the same soul-deep yearning as when he was separated from Elizabeta. But this time, someone was there to help ease that longing.

"Mmm, food first," she murmured and lifted a hand to the back of his head. He kissed her neck once, twice, thrice more, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin and eliciting a tired giggle. The sound warmed Lucas' heart.

"What would you like? I can send for food, go out for food, or cook you food. Whatever you want, love."

After a quiet moment of consideration, Varinia sat up. "Eggs," she declared. "Scrambled. With cheese and green onions and hot sauce and toast."

His lips twitched at her request. If there was one thing he'd learned about Varinia, it was that she added hot sauce or cayenne pepper to nearly everything.

"Scrambled eggs it is, then." With a final kiss to her cheek, he straightened and fetched her favorite blanket. It was soft and fuzzy and her go-to blanket when she was cold or tired. He draped it over her now, making sure her feet were covered, as well.

She laughed. "You're treating me like a child, Lucas."

"No, I'm treating you like the woman I love."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He froze, watching her, his hands still resting on her blanket-covered feet.

But she did not appear to be perturbed by his confession. Rather, she was smiling sweetly.

"Well, good," she replied, "because I love you, too."

Lucas grinned and kissed her.

He wanted nothing more than to linger, to fold her into his arms and hold her, to breathe in her scent and feel the steady beating of her heart. It had begun as sex, this thing of theirs, as purely a way to quench their mutual lust. Lucas could have never imagined that it would lead to _this_ \--his first meaningful relationship since Elizabeta. Varinia had made him feel safe, and now he intended to do the same for her. Starting with eggs.

Once their suppers were done, Lucas divided the eggs between two plates and buttered the toast. Balancing the plates in one hand and two cups of tea in the other, he exited the kitchen.

Varinia had been flipping through the channels, but when she glimpsed him entering the living room, she turned off the telly and stood.

"Stay," he instructed.

She lifted an eyebrow but sat back down. "You hate eating on the couch."

"I'm making an exception tonight." He set the plates and mugs on the coffee table, then fixed her with a pointed look. " _Only_ tonight."

"Yes, sir," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Varinia took a bite of her eggs. "They're excellent. Not overcooked. Mum always overcooked eggs." Lucas' lips twitched when she added more hot sauce. "I'm surprised you can cook," she remarked.

"Why? Should I not be able to?"

She shrugged. "I just didn't think you'd have many occasions to. I mean, you don't exactly spend much time at home."

"No, not really," he agreed. "But when I do, I like to cook. It's relaxing." He glanced at her, watching her practically scarf down her food. Well, it _had_ been over twelve hours since she'd eaten. "When The Cleansers are dealt with, I'll cook you a proper Sunday roast."

"With Yorkshire pudding and everything?"

"Well, of course," he affirmed. "It's not Sunday roast without Yorkshire pudding."

"Wow," she said, grinning. "I have my very own spy, and he can cook, to boot. James Bond should be ashamed of himself."

"James Bond is MI6," Lucas pointed out.

"Hush," she reprimanded and climbed into his lap. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close. Varinia met his gaze, and it reflected the affection he felt for her. "You're better than Bond because you're real. And even if he _were_ real, you'd still be better because he's a notorious womaniser."

He smiled, as he always did while with her.

"I don't have the personality for it," he said apologetically.

"I'm very glad to hear that." She brushed an errant strand of hair from his forehead. "I missed you, Lucas. I didn't realise just how much until I spied you through the keyhole of the broom closet."

"Sounds rather illicit," he quipped, with a smirk. His comment earned him an exasperated mock-glare. Sobering, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her. "I had no idea how we'd find you, so the sight of you stumbling from that closet was one of the best in my life."

Varinia hugged him, nestling her face in his neck.

"Mmm, mine, too," she mumbled, then yawned. "We should clean up."

"Later," he said softly.

Lucas repositioned them so that he was leaning against the arm of the sofa, with Varinia lying atop him. From her slow, even breaths, he knew she was drifting off. He kissed the top of her head and settled in for the night.


	24. Goaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia are interrupted, and MI5 makes significant headway with The Cleansers.

The sun shone in through the window, bathing the sofa's occupants in its soft, warm glow. The sounds of the morning commute--of buses and cars and people--floated up from the street. Sometime during the night, Lucas had reclined fully on the cushions, but Varinia was still curled up atop him, her strawberry-blonde hair fanned out on his chest. He tucked a few strands behind her ear and watched her sleep. Her face was relaxed and serene, giving the impression that she was younger than twenty-nine. For all their time together since that fateful drive to Hungarton, Lucas actually knew very little about the linguist. He had read part of her file and had certainly become familiar with her mannerisms, but apart from her penchant for country-hopping, Varinia's past remained a mystery to him.

In their defence, they hadn't been afforded many opportunities to exchange stories, nor had their relationship begun in the conventional way. Their "dates" had consisted of pretending to be British tourists, while spying on Turkish government officials. And despite the hectic backdrop and the rushed courtship, Lucas had fallen in love with her.

Varinia shifted, stretching out her legs until they rested between his. His arms tightened around her middle, holding her to him, as he bent down to bury his nose in her hair. It smelled vaguely of coconut, not of flowers, like her usual shampoo. And that reminded him of what she had told him yesterday, about Anton and Marlina and the voyeuristic shower. His anger flared again. Lucas wished that he'd been the one to shoot and kill Anton, because despite her insistence otherwise, he knew it would eventually affect Varinia--if not with remorse, then with the disconcerting realisation that she _didn't_ feel guilty for taking someone's life.

"You think any harder and you'll pop a blood vessel."

Lucas lifted his head to catch Varinia's sleepy gaze. He smiled.

"Did my thinking wake you?"

"No," she said, laughing. "The sun did." Varinia turned her face away from the light and placed a few kisses on his clothed chest. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing important." She shot him a disbelieving look, and he sighed. "I don't want to risk upsetting you."

"I'm not a child, Lucas," she stated. She looked far more alert now, even a touch irritated. "You don't have to spare me from potentially ugly things. I've just _been_ through an ugly thing, and I'm fine."

"You're fine _now_ ," he specified. "But it'll catch up to you when you least expect it. I know, Varinia. I've been through it. You feel fine one minute, and then you get flashbacks so vivid that you can't breathe from the fear and pain."

Her expression was tense for another instant, before it softened.

"I love you." Lucas was caught off-guard by the endearment. His lips parted slightly, a surge of emotion welling up in his throat. She scooted up his body and nestled her face in the crook of his neck. "I love you for worrying about me, but in this case, you don't need to. Our situations were different. Yours was serious. Mine...not so much."

He swallowed hard. "But it could've been," he pointed out. "If you hadn't managed to incapacitate Marlina and call me, or if you hadn't managed to elude Xióng's agents... Or if we hadn't walked past the exact broom closet that you were hiding in..." He trailed off, his brows creased in thought. "You said Xióng was a pontificating mental case. If you'd have been recaptured, how do you think he would have reacted?"

"Badly." She moved so that she could look at him again. "He would've let Marlina finally get her way. Xióng's dangerous, but he won't get his hands dirty. That's his agents' job. That's _Marlina's_ job."

"And Anton's," quipped Lucas sourly.

A corner of her mouth twitched. "With men, yes, but I don't think he's the type to beat women. Whenever he came in with Marlina, _she_ was the violent one. Anton just stood there."

"And watched you shower."

"True, but he wouldn't have if Marlina hadn't told him to," Varinia replied. "Anton was an idiot. He probably didn't do anything unless ordered to. It was Marlina who had planned the whole thing."

When Lucas heard that, the urge to hurt Marlina was overwhelming. He sat up suddenly, eliciting a surprised squeak from Varinia.

"Harry said she's in hospital, badly concussed but alive." His hands clenched into fists. "When she wakes..." He broke off, staring into the distance for a moment, then cupped her cheeks. "No. That's behind us now. And when The Cleansers are neutralised once and for all, this damned thing will be behind us for good."

Varinia grinned. "And then I can go back to translating things like which political leader is due to be assassinated this time. I can hardly wait."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or if you're actually serious," he remarked.

"A little of both," she replied and kissed him. "One crazy cult is enough for a lifetime. In fact, I think I may just return to translating books. Or maybe I'll give tours of Westminster Abbey."

"Lovely. I'm going to lose you to tourists," he said flatly. "Well, maybe I'll swing by the abbey to see you in action."

"I was kidding about Westminster," she laughed. Varinia tapped the tip of his nose. "But even if I were serious, you wouldn't lose me to tourists." She leaned in and kissed him again, this time, allowing her lips to linger. "They're way too camera-happy, and none of them are as handsome as you."

"No?" he asked, his breath ghosting over her lips.

"Not even close," she affirmed. She trailed kisses over his jaw and down his neck, pausing to dip her tongue into the hollow of his throat. "What time is it?"

"Sod the time," murmured Lucas, as he laid her onto the sofa.

Covering her body with his, he kissed her long and deeply. It sounded ridiculous, but he felt like he was given another chance with Varinia, like this was _it_ \--the relationship that would heal his heart after Russia and Elizabeta and Sarah. He truly believed Varinia was the balm that could soothe his wounds.

His lips went next to her neck, while her hands moved to the back of his head, holding him to her. He kissed her pulse point and traced his tongue over a collarbone, until he encountered the neckline of her t-shirt. Gone were the baggy scrubs. Lucas' lips twitched when he remembered how eagerly she had discarded them in favour of the t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. As much as he, too, preferred her current garb, it was nevertheless an impediment that needed to be shed.

He stopped kissing her to gaze down at her. Desire but also concern shone in his eyes.

"Are you okay with this?"

"With what? Sex?" she asked, a half-smile forming on her face. "We've done it before."

"You know what I mean, Varinia," he said, fixing her with a look of fond exasperation. "Are you okay with this after the shower incident?"

The other half of the smile appeared on her face, and she combed her fingers through his short hair.

"You're not Anton, so of course I'm okay with this. It's been, what, a week since we've had sex? This is long overdue."

He chuckled as he bent down to kiss her. "You are insatiable, love."

"Mmm," she hummed in affirmation, "but only with you."

Suddenly, Lucas' mobile buzzed on the coffee table. He groaned.

"That's probably Harry."

"Probably," agreed Varinia. "You should get it."

With another, louder groan, Lucas reached for the phone. He still hovered over Varinia, supporting himself on one elbow, and his gaze followed her fingers as they stroked his arm. The conversation was brief, but his slight frown betrayed the nature of the call.

"It's about Xióng, isn't it."

"What isn't these days?" replied Lucas, sighing. He scrubbed a hand over his face and stood. "We're interrogating him in half an hour, so I need to get to the Grid. There's plenty of food in the fridge and bad soaps on the telly."

Varinia stood, as well. "I'd rather come in with you, if that's allowed. I've spoken to Xióng. I may be able to help." He was ready to refuse her request but checked it when he saw her resolute expression. "He's imprisoned. He can't do anything to me now," she reasoned.

"Not physically," Lucas conceded, "but he can still say things that might affect you."

"Then they affect me," she said, shrugging. "I don't know him well, but I know him a bit better than you, Marcus, or Harry. I could help."

Lucas watched her for another instant, before he relented. "Fine, but the moment he starts to fuck with you, I need to know."

"Deal," she said, with a satisfied, almost gloating smile.

Lucas would have rolled his eyes, had he been the type.

#

Section D's interrogation of Xióng had thus far yielded nothing constructive. Harry and Lucas tried to impress upon him the bleakness of his situation, but to no avail; the Chinese man remained calm and controlled throughout the session. Harry was losing his patience, as well as his time. Because America had also been attacked by The Cleansers, the CIA liaison officer was demanding American participation in the questioning, and Harry knew he could not hold them off for much longer.

He glanced at Varinia, who'd been silently observing the proceedings. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, her arms folded across her chest.

Then she pushed off from the wall that she'd been leaning against and said, "I don't understand why you're being so stubborn, Xióng. If you were incapable of preventing a lone linguist from escaping, I don't know how you expect to maintain control of a global terrorist organisation."

Xióng turned his gaze on Varinia, the briefest flash of anger appearing behind his neutral mask.

"I have people who will run it in my stead," he replied smoothly.

"Well, I certainly hope they're better than Anton or Marlina," she remarked casually. "They were both bested by a prisoner with hardly any field training. That's gotta sting."

The man's pleasant expression darkened ever so slightly, and his arms tensed in their restraints. Harry was watching him, but Lucas' attention was on Varinia, a tendril of pride blossoming in his chest. He and Harry had attempted to reason with Xióng, to appeal to whatever miniscule amount of humanity he still possessed. When that had failed, they'd graduated to logic and threats, but he'd been unaffected by those, as well. Yet petty insults about the competence of his underlings had managed to ruffle his feathers. As Varinia knew they would.

She waited for Xióng to respond, but he did not. So she forged on.

"What's the point of continuing this defiance?" she asked. "Haven't you endured enough humiliation?"

"I'm touched by your concern," he said sarcastically.

"It's not concern," she replied. "I just thought you might want the chance to redeem yourself. After all, you Chinese are all about saving face, aren't you?"

Xióng glared at her as his muscles tensed again.

"I will not betray my cause," he said acidly. "And it _will_ go on without me. You can raid all the labs you want, my network of bacteriologists will just find new ones."

"We have some of your agents, too," reminded Harry.

"Only because I let you."

Lucas had been leaning against the far wall, but he straightened at that. Harry, too, seemed interested, because he was eyeing Varinia intently to see if she would follow-up on the admission.

She did, by laughing.

"Christ, you'll say anything to detract from your failure, won't you. Next you're going to tell us that _your_ capture was deliberate, as well."

"Of course it wasn't," he snapped.

"So we're to believe that the leader of a sophisticated revolution instructed his people to let Western intelligence agencies capture them?" Lucas suggested dubiously.

Goaded, Xióng smirked. "Well, it helped me find Ms Erdélyi."

"A lot of good that did you," observed Harry.

"She wasn't supposed to overpower her guards," Xióng said stiffly. "She was supposed to-"

He was interrupted as Dimitri poked his head in to inform them that Tariq had decrypted the files on Xióng's computer. When CO19 had raided the Chinese man's lair, they'd retrieved anything potentially important, including his personal effects and computer. The latter, it turned out, contained the locations of the remaining plague labs and even the names of some high-ranking agents. The intel was forwarded to MI6, the MİT, the MSS, the BND, the FSB, and the CIA. One Cleanser had already been apprehended in the UK and Russia each, with promising leads on several others.

"Well, Zhu, your plan has now officially failed," said Harry genially. "Do you have anything to say?"

"I would take care if I were you, Mr Pierce," Xióng sneered. "You're a fool if you think you have stopped us. The Cleansers are just one of many groups who would see America on its knees. Another will follow, and another after that, and yet another after that. As long as the West spews its poisons, there will be organisations like mine to oppose and _de_ pose it."

"Yes, there will be," Harry agreed, "and they will be stopped, too."

"Unless the terrorist group is a whole country."

Lucas exchanged a glance with Harry, the same, wary thought on their minds: Russia.

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Lucas said, smiling reassuringly. "Where you're going, I suspect that current events will be the least of your interests."

"Before we transfer you to the detention facility, I'd like to know one thing," said Harry. "How did a child of Chinese dissidents grow up to sympathise with the country that sentenced his parents to a labour camp for merely speaking out against political corruption?"

Xióng met Harry's gaze coolly.

"I was sent to live in England, of course."

"Charming," Harry murmured, gesturing to the two MI5 agents tasked with maintaining custody of Xióng. "Take him away."

When he was out of earshot, Harry updated Dimitri on what they had learned.

"So the agents we seized were somehow relaying information back to Xióng?"

"I don't know how that's possible," said Lucas. "We checked them for coms."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Do we still have the clothes they were wearing when we brought them in?"

"We should," affirmed Lucas. "You're thinking they wore a hidden camera during their interrogation?"

"Maybe," said Harry. "Dimitri, have forensics check their clothing again. The camera would probably be plastic to have eluded the scanner."

"Kolesnikov!" exclaimed Varinia, after Dimitri had gone. "During one of our conversations, Xióng told me that Gulyanov aided The Cleansers when it suited his interests." She gave Harry and Lucas a meaningful glance. "Gulyanov had also insisted the FSB take custody of Kolesnikov, since he's a Russian citizen."

"And then he subsequently planted a camera on him to record the interrogation," said Harry, understanding. "So forensics won't find anything on the others' clothes."

"That's how Xióng learned who you were and where to find you." Lucas' expression was stormy, and his tone was carefully controlled. Varinia recognised those tell-tale signs of anger.

She nodded. "I think so, yes."

"I'm sorry," said Harry, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It was my idea for you to attend Kolesnikov's questioning."

Lucas' jaw clenched, but Varinia gave Harry a small smile.

"I was the only Russian-speaker available on short notice. Plus, if I hadn't been kidnapped, we might not have Xióng _or_ his files. It all worked out in the end, as things are wont to do."

"Quite the optimist you have here," said Harry to Lucas.

Varinia blushed, and Lucas, despite his resentment towards Harry, softened.

"I'll cure her of it one day," he quipped.

#

As predicted, forensics had found nothing suspicious on the Cleansers' clothing. It seemed that Kolesnikov had indeed been the culprit, but he probably wouldn't have succeeded if Gulyanov had not allowed him to. The Russian attaché would need to be handled with caution.

After supervising Xiong's transfer to the detention center, Lucas returned to the grid to pick up Dimitri. They would be joining CO19 officers in hunting down the last free Cleansers agents in England. He had also wanted a moment with Varinia, since it would likely be quite late by the time he got home.

"Will you be okay alone for a while?" he asked, scanning her face.

"Yes, Lucas," she replied, with a small smile. "And I won't be _completely_ alone, at least not initially. Harry's sending an agent to escort me."

"Good." He did indeed feel relieved, and much of his bitterness for the man vanished. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas glimpsed Dimitri walking towards them. He nodded at the younger man and pulled Varinia into a secluded corridor. "Stay in the flat, and keep the door and windows locked."

"I will, Lucas."

"Don't buzz anyone in who you don't know."

She fixed him with a pointed look, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"I feel like I'm child being left home alone for the first time, while her dad pops down for some milk."

Lucas cracked a smile. "Habit," he said apologetically.

"I know," she reassured him. Rising up onto her tiptoes, Varinia kissed him. "Dimitri's coming."

"Yeah, he is," said Lucas absently, his focus still on Varinia. "You did well with Xióng today."

She averted her gaze to her Converse trainers, and for once, he let her.

"I felt dirty playing those mind games, though."

"I did, too," he confessed. "But sometimes they're the only the thing that works."

"I know," she said, sighing. Varinia glanced up at him, saw the question in his eyes, and smiled. "I'm fine, really. A teeny-tiny part of me _might_ have even enjoyed taking a swipe at Xióng's ego."

Lucas couldn't help but to return her smile. "As much as I'd rather take you home to finish what we started this morning, I have to go. I'll probably be back late, so don't wait up." He pressed a kiss behind her ear and whispered, "I love you," before boarding the lift with Dimitri.

Varinia watched the numbers illuminate one-by-one as the elevator descended to the parking garage. She took a moment to collect herself, then walked into the office to call Ankara and Berlin.


	25. Reveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely no plot, just lots of fluff and smut. As such, this chapter is rated **E**.

_Bring all that you're scared to defend and lay it down when you walk through my door. Throw all of it out on the floor, your sorrow, your beauty, your war. I want it all, I want it all. Bring your secrets, bring your scars. Bring your glory, all you are. Bring your daylight, bring your dark. Share your silence, and unpack your heart._ -"Unpack your Heart" Phillip Phillips **  
**

The bed dipped beneath him as Lucas slipped under the covers. It had been a long day, which had inevitably become a long night, of seizing the remaining high-level Cleansers operatives in England. He was bone-tired, but when he wrapped himself around Varinia, he remembered their activities before Xióng's questioning, and so did his body. She was asleep, her breathing slow and steady. She smelt of flowers again, mixed with the scent of his soap. It was comforting and familiar, and he nestled his face in the crook of her neck.

Varinia shifted, sighing softly.

"You're here."

Lucas moved her hair aside and kissed her nape.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered.

"Okay," she murmured but turned to face him instead. "I could do that. _Or_ we could continue what we started this morning."

"I would love to, but we're both-" He broke off as Varinia's hand snaked down his body to rest on his clothed cock.

"We're both what?" she asked, pressing down just enough to create a delicious friction while she palmed him. "Too tired?" His cock grew and hardened the longer she worked it. "I think your body begs to differ."

Lucas could not deny it. Exhausted though he may have been, he wanted her-- _had_ wanted her from the moment he had first laid eyes on her. His hand traveled along her curves, over her hips that were noticeably free of a band. As he ventured lower, his suspicion was confirmed. Varinia was not wearing knickers under her satin nightgown.

He groaned and parted her folds with his fingers. "You make it difficult for a man to resist."

"That _was_ the idea," she replied.

In the light of the moon that shone through the windows, he saw her grin. Then she straddled his thighs and began to shower his naked torso with attention. She kissed a path from his neck to his hips and followed it with her tongue, lingering on the _Gnothi Seauton_ tattoo, as she was wont to do. Reaching the waistband of his boxers, she pulled them down and kissed his hipbone in thanks when he lifted his arse to help the disrobing process.

Varinia smoothed her hands over his muscular thighs, her fingers treading maddeningly close to where he needed her touch the most. His cock twitched, as if to beckon her. Wrapping a hand around the base, she moved it up until his foreskin pulled back to reveal the glistening, pinkish-purple head. Her ministrations were sure and steady, and each time her thumb nudged the frenulum, his hips bucked up into her grasp.

But that pleasure was nothing compared to the sensation of his erection suddenly enveloped by the warmth of her mouth. Lucas moaned. He tangled his fingers in her hair as she proceeded to give him one of the best blowjobs of his life. Varinia increased the speed gradually, one hand pumping what her mouth could not reach, while the other hand cupped and rolled his balls. Her tongue swirled sensually around the head, alternating between flat strokes and hard licks. Lucas was hurtling swiftly towards orgasm, and as the heat pooled at the base of his spine, he tugged sharply on her hair.

"Varinia," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Varinia, stop. I'm about to come."

Her movements ceased, and she pulled off to look up at him.

"That's kind of the point," she said dryly.

"You know what I mean." He fixed her with a pointed glance--or as pointed a glance as he could manage with blown pupils and flushed skin. "Blowjobs are good and all, and this one was _particularly_ good, but I'd really rather come inside you."

She grinned. "I'm amenable to that."

Varinia straddled his hips and allowed him to tug the nightgown over her head. Now that nothing barred her from his gaze or touch, Lucas indulged himself. He surged up and captured her lips in a fervent kiss, his tongue tracing her bottom lip to beseech entry. Granting it, she simultaneously gripped the base of his cock and rose up just enough so that it slid through her slick folds, before she sank down upon it, slowly taking him until their pelvises met.

"Fuck, Varinia," he gasped against her lips.

He was fully sheathed inside her, surrounded by her tight warmth. An arm wrapped around her waist, while the other draped across her back to cup her nape.

"See?" she said, her voice hitching as she began to move in long, deep strokes. "Aren't you glad I didn't go back to sleep?"

"Very glad," he replied. Lucas let her set the pace and contented himself with helping, but not guiding, her movements. "You planned this, didn't you? You knew I wouldn't be able to resist when I realised you weren't wearing knickers."

He saw her smirk in the moonlight, then felt her clench around him. He groaned and bucked up into her, her answering moan prompting him to tighten his arms around her.

"Maybe," she teased. "Or maybe I just prefer to sleep knickerless," she suggested, undulating against him.

He met her motions with thrusts of his own, their pace increasing as their pleasure mounted. The hand that had been on her waist now cupped one of her breasts, and he pressed wet kisses onto her neck when she tipped her head back.

"That's true," he murmured into her skin. Varinia clenched around him again, and he closed his eyes to savour the sensation. Lucas was rushing towards his release, and she towards hers, as she rocked against him. He shifted her slightly, and the new angle elicited another moan from between her lips. "Ah," he said, panting heavily, "there it is."

They didn't speak after that, lost as they were in the heat spreading through their bodies. He squeezed her breast, and she arched into him, riding him hard and fast. He felt her tensing, her walls tightening, and then she bowed forward and cried out, her nails leaving half-moon imprints on his shoulders.

Lucas fucked her through her orgasm, his hips quickly losing their rhythm, until he, too, reached completion with a breathless groan. He held her to him, his face buried in the crook of her neck and his hand still resting on her breast.

"So, did you catch Xióng's agents?"

Considering their position, the question was asked in such a casual tone that Lucas nearly laughed.

"Yes," he said. Lucas lay down, bringing Varinia with him. "The most important ones anyway."

Varinia rested her head upon his chest and absently brushed her fingers over his tattoos. It was a habit she had developed after he'd explained their significance.

"What'll happen to the others?"

"They'll be found in due time, but our role in this thing is over," he reassured her.

"Thank God," she said, sounding relieved. Varinia was silent for a moment as he languidly stroked her back. "The day after tomorrow is Sunday," she remarked.

"It is," he affirmed.

"You promised me a proper Sunday roast."

Lucas nodded. "I remember." He leant down to kiss the top of her head, hiding his smile in her hair. "And I'm a man of my word."

"Mmm," she hummed in response. "Do you have to go in tomorrow?"

"You mean today," he corrected, glancing at the clock. "I do, but only to write up my case report."

"And the rest of the team?"

"Harry will update the Home Secretary, Dimitri will oversee the search for the stragglers, and MI6 will liaise with the other intelligence agencies," he said. "What will you do?"

She pressed a kiss to his chest and sighed.

"I'm going to go home," she replied. "I think it's time that I do. I can't avoid my flat forever."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," she said, and he heard the smile in her voice. "This is something I need to do alone." Varinia leant up to kiss him. "But thank you, Lucas. You've been so kind and understanding."

He cradled the back of her head and kissed her again, deeply.

"Move in with me," he whispered against her lips.

"What?"

"Move in with me." He pulled away to look at her. "I love you, Varinia, and I want you beside me every day."

"In bed?" she inquired, with an arched brow.

"There, too," he agreed.

Varinia held his gaze as she worried her lower lip--a sign of unease that he well knew. But he resisted the urge to reassure her and allowed her to think on his invitation.

"We've slept together," she began, "but we don't really _know_ each other."

"I know you," he stated. "I wouldn't love you if I didn't. And you know me, don't you? You know why I am the way I am. You know the darkest parts of my past."

"But you don't know _my_ past," she countered. "Unless, of course, you read more of my file than you say you did."

"I didn't," he assured her, with a kiss to her forehead. "I agree that I don't know your past, but that's only because The Cleansers dominated our conversations. Now that we're rid of them, let me get to know you properly."

She stared at him for another instant, then grinned.

"I think you'll find that stories of my childhood are rather mundane in comparison to a global terror plot."

"Perhaps," he conceded, "but when you're a spy, the mundane is a rare treat. I want a life with you, Varinia, and I'm hoping this is just the beginning."

"Well, it's certainly not the end," she quipped and kissed him. When they broke apart, she said, "I'm going to need some room in the closet and maybe a drawer in the bathroom for my makeup."

Lucas smiled. "Deal," he said, hugging her to him. "And I'll even throw in a few drawers for your knickers and socks."

"That's very generous of you." Varinia yawned and laid her head back onto his chest. "Love you," she murmured tiredly.

"Love you, too."

He closed his eyes, reveling in the warm, sated drowsiness that always crept up on him after sex with Varinia. And he would be lying if he denied that he also reveled in the happiness of simply _being_ with Varinia.

 


	26. Sated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot? What plot? Rated **E**.

Varinia stood outside her door, keys in hand, staring at the lock. She knew she was being ridiculous. The building had been under constant surveillance since her abduction, so her flat was perfectly safe. Yet she nevertheless balked. The assumption of security, in addition to exhaustion and carelessness, was what had gotten her kidnapped.

Her gaze roved over the welcome mat. Nothing suspicious there. It moved to the door, to the paint and the lock again. There was nothing to indicate a forced entry.

Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and unlocked the door. Varinia cautiously walked inside, eyeing the furniture and items in the foyer, until she reached the end of it. She stopped abruptly. This was where the first man had grabbed her, while the second man injected her with a sedative. Her heart raced as the memories of that night flooded back. She remembered how large the hand was that had covered her mouth, how her muffled screams had sounded. She remembered fighting back, using her elbows to jab into her captor's torso. She remembered the pinch of the needle in her neck, the panic that had overwhelmed her. And then...nothing.

Just like now. Nothing. No one came at her, no burly arms encircled her.

"You're safe," she assured herself. "You're safe."

#

It was much later when Varinia finished transporting her belongings to Lucas' flat, and as the front door opened, he greeted her with a kiss.

"I just got home, too," he informed her. Taking one of the suitcases from Varinia, Lucas carried it into the bedroom, leaving her to follow with the smaller, lighter one. "Is this it?"

She snorted. "Hardly," she replied. "I've got two others in the hallway, but I've left the other stuff at my flat. The lease isn't up for another few months anyway, so I may as well keep the non-essential things there."

"And when your lease is up?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, with a shrug. "But your flat is definitely not big enough for both our things."

"Well, then," Lucas murmured, coming up behind Varinia to wrap his arms around her middle, "we'll just have to find a larger place, won't we?"

She allowed herself to fall back against his chest, secure in the knowledge that he would support her. A grin played upon her lips as her fingers entwined with his.

"Now who's the one being optimistic?" He kissed the side of her neck, and she could feel the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. "A larger place is a must, if we're to continue cohabitating. My books need a home, too."

Lucas chuckled. "Cohabitating. That sounds so sterile. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned romance?"

"I can take it or leave it," she said nonchalantly. He kissed her neck again, his barely-there stubble lightly grazing the sensitive skin. He had shaved that morning, yet by the evening, his facial hair was already growing back. "Neck-kisses, however, are non-negotiable."

"I shall bestow them frequently and with great relish," he vowed. With a final peck to her neck, Lucas released her. "Now," he said, "I recall having promised you a Sunday roast."

Varinia followed him to the kitchen, affection mixing with the excitement bubbling up within her breast.

"None of the previous men I've dated ever cooked for me." She paused, looking contemplative. "Actually, one did, but it was such a disaster that we agreed he should never again."

"What'd he do?" Lucas asked. He collected his ingredients--the spices, the meat, the vegetables--and began to peel and chop. "Did he burn down the kitchen?"

"Pretty much."

He stopped peeling a russet potato and stared at her, half in awe and half in disbelief.

"He _burnt down the kitchen_?"

"Well, almost," she conceded. "He had one those of glass-top stoves, and I guess he'd forgotten which burners he'd switched on, because the next thing I know, the kitchen towel that had been lying on the stove is on fire." Lucas glanced at her, trying not to laugh. "Then, while he's dealing with _that_ , the water boils over, and the steam mixes with the smoke from the burnt towel so that the stove now looks like one of those science fair volcanoes gone wrong. He's rushing from the sink to the stove to lower the heat and douse the flaming kitchen towel, when he collides with me, nearly knocking me over, because I'd gone into the kitchen to help him."

"Was the food at least good?" Lucas asked.

"Yeah, it was great," Varinia replied, "because we'd gone out for Thai food instead."

He couldn't hold back his laughter any longer.

"Poor bloke."

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement, watching how deftly he chopped the garlic. "You, on the other hand, are good with a knife."

"Elizabeta and I used to cook together," he said tonelessly. "Plus, after eating the same cabbage soup and stale bread for years in prison, I craved the English food I'd grown up with."

Varinia's features softened, as they always did when he mentioned Lushanka. She hopped off the barstool to walk into the kitchen and hug him from behind. His hands instantly covered hers.

"Comfort food," she said, her voice muffled against his back. "It's why I started cooking. I love traveling to new cities, but the first few weeks were always rather lonely, because I didn't know anyone. Sometimes, like when I moved to Istanbul, I didn't even know the language." She released Lucas and fetched the eggs, flour, and milk for the Yorkshire pudding. "So the Hungarian food that Mum used to make became my lifeline in those first few weeks."

"Fish and chips and Earl Grey were my lifelines when I came back," he said. "And pork pies."

Varinia smiled. "Quintessential English food. Speaking of which, how do I make the Yorkshire pudding?"

Lucas looked at her over his shoulder. She had the ingredients lined up on the counter, along with a large, glass bowl to mix them in.

"You're going to need a fat to cook them in," he remarked. She nodded and fetched a small jar of leftover bacon fat from the fridge. "Since it's only for the two of us, I think two eggs, 100 ml milk, and 120 grams flour will do."

Varinia followed his recipe, seasoning the batter with salt and pepper, and poured the mixture into a greased pudding tin.

"Now I bake them?" she asked.

"At 210 degrees for twenty to twenty-five minutes," he replied. As she slid the tin into the oven, Lucas finished prepping the vegetables and seasoning the beef tenderloin. "When they're done, we'll lower the heat and roast the meat. You like it medium-rare?"

"You remember," said Varinia, sounding both pleased and surprised.

He gave her a half-smirk. "Eidetic memory, love," he said, tapping his temple. "You ordered your burger medium-rare that time we searched Altan's flat."

"God, that seems like _ages_ ago," she said, reclaiming her spot on the barstool.

Resting her chin on her forearms, she watched Lucas clean up, a fond smile gracing her lips. He was a fastidious one, for sure. She thought that perhaps it was a byproduct of his years in prison, but it was probably more likely a result of his MI5 training.

"It's only been about a month."

"And we're already cohabitating." She grinned at his quiet chuckle. "Has Harry sat you down for 'the talk' yet?"

He finished loading the dishwasher and kicked the door shut as he exited the kitchen. He sat on the barstool beside hers, while they waited for the Yorkshire pudding to bake.

"Today, actually," Lucas replied. Varinia looked at him expectantly, trying to read his expression. "He acknowledged that our relationship hasn't hindered our work, so as long as it _continues_ not to, it's our business what we do."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Then Marcus probably won't care either. So do I still have to tell him?"

"It's standard procedure," he confirmed. "We need to be vetted by our respective section heads. Chances are, though, that he already knows." The darkening of his features was nearly imperceptible, but Varinia noticed it. "Spies gossip, too."

"Sarah, you mean," she stated carefully. He nodded, but there was a question in his eyes. "Like you said, spies gossip, too. I don't know the particulars, which I suspect were above my meager clearance, but from what I could gather, Sarah fucked you over."

"Sarah fucked everyone over," Lucas muttered bitterly. "She was a member of an international group plotting to change the world order. When she became a liability to them, they put a bullet through her skull."

The linguist stared at Lucas, her mouth slightly open in shock.

"Christ, Lucas," she said. "Did you...love her?"

"No." The response was swift and firm. "I learnt about her involvement in the group relatively early on in our relationship, so the only reason I stayed with her was to find out more."

"This world..." Varinia broke off, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't think I like it."

Lucas leant forward to stroke her cheek. "I don't either," he confessed, "but it's all I know. I've tried other professions, all without success. I've been an agent for so long that I think I'll be one until I die."

"Which will hopefully be when you're old and grey," she warned sternly.

"And preferably with you by my side," he said, smiling tenderly at her. "So, it's your turn now. Tell me a sordid detail from your past."

"I doubt I can top _yours_. My exes were all tame, compared to Sarah," she said, then fell silent, thinking. "Oh, okay, I have one. I was almost arrested once for skinny-dipping in Lake Balaton."

His brows rose in interest. "Go on," he prompted.

"Well, when I was seventeen, this guy and I decided it'd be a good idea to go skinny-dipping in a muddy, leech-infested lake. It was night, so we had that part of the lake to ourselves, and we took our clothes off and waded into the water. But apparently, swimming naked wasn't enough, so we...uh...tried to have sex, too."

"And how did that turn out?" asked Lucas, reining in his humour for her sake.

"Badly," she said flatly. "The park ranger stumbled upon us, and we were momentarily blinded by his flashlight. He called the cops, since apparently it's _illegal_ to swim naked in Hungarian lakes. The only reason we weren't arrested is because my father was a diplomat."

Lucas' hearty laughter earned him a mock-glare from the linguist. He kissed the tip of her nose in an attempt to placate her, but the effect was ruined by his amused grin.

"We've all gone for nighttime dips in the nude," he assured her, "but not all of us had an unexpected audience."

Varinia smacked his arm. "Bastard," she grumbled. He grabbed her hand before it could retreat, bringing it to his lips. She felt them twitching against her skin as he watched her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Incidentally, underwater sex sucks."

"That it does," he agreed.

"In addition to the humiliation of being caught and the fear of spending the night in jail, my vagina felt chafed afterwards."

He ducked his head to hide a smirk. "How does that saying go? Once bitten, twice shy?"

Varinia nodded. "Yes, quite."

The timer went off, indicating that the Yorkshire puddings were done. Lucas took them out of the oven, lowered the temperature, and slid in the pan with the roast beef.

"It needs about forty minutes, so we've got some time to kill before the vegetables go in," he said. His gaze caught hers, his pupils dilating as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Underwater sex is out," he mused, "but how do you feel about counter sex?"

She arched a brow. "Is that even sanitary?"

"No," he said, "but there's such a thing as disinfectant spray, you know."

She shot him a mild look of annoyance, then hopped off the barstool to stand before him.

"So?" he prompted. As answer, Varinia squeezed him through his jeans. His pupils dilated further, and he lifted her up onto the counter. "I promise you won't come away with vaginal chafing."

And then his mouth was on hers, swallowing her laughter. Her legs parted to give him room to stand between them, and Lucas wrapped his arms around her, bringing her torso flush with his. Even through their clothing, Varinia experienced a pleasant tingle at the contact. They kissed like that for minutes, tongues swirling and hands splayed out on backs, until they were slightly breathless.

His lips moved lower now. They trailed down her neck, over her chest, along her collarbones, and into her cleavage, the kisses alternating with light sucks. She tipped her head back, her hands in his hair, as shiver after shiver ran up her spine. His deft fingers unbuttoned her blouse to reveal the plain, white bra underneath, which was quickly unclasped and tossed unceremoniously behind her. He cupped her breasts, kneading them, eliciting a soft sigh of pleasure from the redhead perched atop the counter. Mouth and tongue were added to fingers to suckle and tease, while his free hand smoothed down her side to unbutton her jeans and slip inside.

Varinia's thighs spread wider, her hips canting up of their own volition when he cupped her vagina through her knickers. The fabric was already quite damp, and Lucas groaned low in his throat, the vibrations rippling through her from where his mouth was closed around her nipple. He began to rub her. His index finger sneaked past her knickers to slide through her slickness, touching gently and slowly to stoke her arousal.

While he was preoccupied, Varinia had unbuckled his belt and undone his jeans so that the black of his boxer briefs peeked out. She pushed his trousers over his hips, revealing his erection straining against his pants. She palmed him briefly from balls to tip, before slipping her hand inside and grasping him tightly. Her thumb traced the head, the frenulum, the vein running along the underside.

Lucas groaned again, and he pressed against her clit more firmly, pulling a moan from Varinia's lips. They brought each other to the brink so that by the time they were kicking off their jeans, they were both so aroused that it hurt.

Grasping her thighs, he pulled her arse to the edge, lined himself up, and breached her folds. Her head fell back as he entered her. His lips parted in a low gasp at the feel of her hot, tight channel clenching and relaxing to accommodate him. When he was buried to the hilt, Lucas took a moment to admire the linguist. She was watching him now, the green of her eyes nearly eclipsed by black. The sight spurred him on.

He began to move, pulling out slowly, only to push back in equally slowly. Varinia draped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, their kisses growing more heated by the second. He thrust into her, jostling her. To steady herself, she wrapped her legs around his hips, and his hands moved to her buttocks, lifting her slightly to bring their lower bodies even closer.

But that also changed the angle of penetration. Varinia moaned, the sound going straight to Lucas' cock. He grunted and picked up speed, his hips pistoning as he chased his orgasm. She was nearing hers, too, if her rhythmic panting and the fluttering of her vaginal muscles were any indication. With one hand still supporting her arse, Lucas rubbed her clit with the other, and, seconds later, her body was tensing, her walls clenching around his cock, her nails digging into his shoulders. She bowed forward and cried out, her breath hot on his neck.

Lucas grunted. He was close, _so_ close. After one, two, three more strokes, he came deep inside her, his long, indecent moan echoing in her ears.

Varinia lay back on the counter, shoving her bra out of the way, as she waited for her breathing to return to normal. With their pelvises still joined, he followed her, draping his body over hers. He placed light kisses on her belly, then her neck, feeling her pulse throb steadily beneath his lips. A drowsiness washed over him. He felt warm and sated--all except his stomach, which rumbled with hunger.

Varinia giggled. "We've managed to occupy ourselves for," she paused, lifting her head to glance at the clock, "about twenty minutes. Only twenty more left to go."

"Bloody slow oven," Lucas muttered. He straightened, bringing Varinia with him, and set her carefully onto the floor. "The vegetables will take a bit, so I'd better start them," he said as he got dressed again.

"And I'll clean the counter," she decided, throwing him a smirk over her shoulder while she, too, put on her clothes. " _Some_ one's made quite the mess."

He gave her arse a light slap on his way to the stove. "Cheeky woman."

Varinia laughed, and Lucas, who had never been particularly cheerful, found himself unable to stop grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching a lot of _Spartacus_ lately, so Lucas' line "I shall bestow them frequently and with great relish" is a nod to something Batiatus says to Lucretia. 
> 
> All the measurements and temperatures are in metric, because that's what they use in England.


	27. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely no plot. Just fluff and conversation, because Lucas deserves a bit of calm.

Lucas felt relaxed for the first time in years. There were no terrorist threats looming over his head, nor the threat of rape and torture. The woman lying beside him on her back, with one arm by her side and the other resting on her naked belly, was not part of a clandestine scheme to recreate the world order. In that moment, life was calm.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Varinia, turning her head to look at him.

He threw an arm onto the pillow above his head and let the other brush against hers.

"How quiet it is."

"Well, it _is_ nearly two in the morning," she said.

"No, I mean London, the world," he explained. "My life."

"Oh." Varinia was silent for a moment, then she rolled onto her stomach, propped herself up on her elbows, and observed him. "Is it strange?"

He thought about that. Such tranquility was a rarity for intelligence officers, but did that make it odd, as well?

"In a way," he replied. She furrowed her eyebrows in a silent question. "It's unnatural. In the past, even a few months ago, it would've had me nervously anticipating the next disaster to befall England. But not today."

"Why not?"

Lucas glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her strawberry-blonde hair was still tousled from sex, and it made him want to feel the strands between his fingers. So, shifting to his side, he indulged the urge. She waited patiently for his answer, her eyes closing at the feel of his hand in her hair.

"I met this woman, you see," he began casually. "A linguist." Her eyes opened, and she met his gaze. "She viewed the world differently than I did and brought me back to simpler times. I spent so much time with her that I think a tiny bit of her optimism rubbed off on me." His hand trailed down to her cheek, cupping it. He smiled at her. "When I'm with her, I can forget about Lushanka and believe that there are still good people in this world."

"She sounds like an amazing woman," said Varinia, her lips twitching with the effort of restraining a grin.

"She is," affirmed Lucas. "And she's gorgeous, too." His thumb traced her bottom lip. "I'm a lucky man to have found her."

She kissed his thumb, and he withdrew it.

"How did you meet her?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

"We were partners," he replied. "We went to Turkey together. On our first night there, she got drunk off two and a half beers."

Varinia snorted. "Can't hold her alcohol, huh?"

"Not at all," he said, smiling. "It was endearing. She babbled on about falafel and Turkish spices. And then she kissed my cheek."

"Very smooth," she murmured. Lucas noted the pinkish-red stain on her cheek. He grinned.

"And she blushes a lot," he said. "I'd tell her she's beautiful, and she'd blush. I'd tell her she's talented, and she'd blush. But when it came to sex, all shyness vanished." His hand trailed down her neck to briefly feel the swell of her left breast. "We actually live together now, but I barely know anything about her past."

"You should ask her, then."

He leaned in to kiss her, allowing his lips to linger on hers. Pulling away, he lay on his back.

"Come here and I will." Varinia laughed and shook her head in amusement, but did as he bade. She rested her head on his shoulder, one hand nestled against her breast, while the other covered part of his Blake tattoo. He snaked an arm around her. "Tell me about your childhood."

"It was hectic. We were constantly in motion."

"Because your father was a diplomat?"

"Partly," she replied. "But even when we were settled somewhere, we weren't _really_ settled. Mum and Dad traveled a lot, and they took me with them. No matter where we were living, we always made frequent trips back to Hungary, so none of the other countries ever felt like home to me."

"What about friends?"

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "I mean, I had some, but I was closer with my parents. I'd always had a good relationship with them."

"And now?" Lucas asked hesitantly. He had read only a small portion of her file, so he didn't know her current familial situation.

"I'm sure I would still be, if they were alive." Lucas closed his eyes, regretting his curiosity. "Dad died of a stroke when I was twenty-one, and Mum died in a car accident a few months before I moved to London."

"I'm so sorry, love," he said softly and covered her hand with his. "I shouldn't have asked."

Tears had formed in her eyes while speaking of her parents' deaths, but now she laughed.

"Why not? You didn't know, Lucas."

"But I _should_ have," he insisted. "I should've been able to glean it from your tone or word choice or something. For Christ's sakes, it's what I do for a living."

She pushed herself up so that she was halfway lying atop him. Meeting his gaze, she said, "You're allowed a break from being a spy, you know, especially with me. Yeah, it's easier to read my file, but I want you to ask uncomfortable questions, because that's how relationships are meant to work."

"I'm not very good at them," he confessed.

Varinia grinned. "Neither am I. We'll learn together." Then she lay back down, her head pillowed on his chest again, and laughed softly. "Dad hated being a diplomat. He hated the two-facedness of it. He despised having to make nice with the communists and with the people who hated communists, too."

"So why was he a diplomat?"

"Because of us," said Varinia. "We had a better life that way. I went to better schools, we were able to travel, and, when things got bad in the Soviet satellite states, we were safe in Vienna."

"He fooled the communists into believing he was one of them," Lucas stated. "That's impressive."

"Well, he actually started out as a socialist, but Marxist socialism, not Leninism or, God forbid, Stalinism," she explained. "I think most people in Hungary were like him. Pretenders. It's not courageous, but he had a family to provide for. If he'd have spoken out against the regime, he would have been thrown into prison, and we'd have been screwed."

A part of Lucas understood, but another part--the one that had motivated him to join MI5--railed against the idea of being complacent in a corrupt regime.

"I know what you're thinking," said Varinia. Lucas glanced down at her, curious. "You're thinking my father was selfish and a coward for living well when so many others did not. But he could do more within the system than outside of it."

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"In 1989, while we lived in Vienna, he helped Hungarians and East Germans flee into Austria and West Germany. The official story was that they were merely "vacationing," but he was able to help them get the necessary travel and residency papers due to his position as a diplomat."

Lucas was stunned. "Your father helped usher in the fall of communism."

"I guess he did, yeah," replied Varinia, with a hint of pride in her voice. "I don't think he imagined it would happen so soon after, though. If Gorbachev hadn't allowed the fence between Hungary and Austria to be taken down, the plan probably would not have worked."

He kissed the top of her head. "Still, he did a good thing," Lucas said. "I shouldn't have judged him prematurely."

"It's ok. He was a cautious and pragmatic man, and he cared about Mum and me."

"That's important," agreed Lucas. "I think if I had children, I would quit MI5. I've seen too many families ruined because of it. I don't want to miss my kids' birthdays or sports games or school recitals."

A warmth suffused her as she listened to him talk about his future family. Varinia had been fortunate to have had such a good father. She knew that Lucas would be a good father, too, because beneath that stoic exterior beat a kind and loving heart.

"Your kids will be lucky," she whispered and kissed his chest.

Lucas smiled down at her, and when she looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat at his expression. She wanted to cry for the tenderness of it. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. Varinia knew they were thinking the same thing. He merely held her gaze, his fingers slowly tracing designs onto her back. In that moment, she realised her future lay with him. Those children, whose birthdays and sports games and school recitals he would not miss, would be hers, as well as his.

"Anyway," she said suddenly, breaking the silence, "after communism fell, we returned to Budapest, and Dad retired from governmental work. He taught economics at the university level, while Mum wrote and opened a book shop."

"And you?"

"I was eleven," Varinia answered, with an arched brow. "I went to school. I liked to learn, but I didn't socialise much with the other students. Instead, I went to Mum's shop after school and read. Before then, I had never encountered the fantasy genre, but when I stumbled across a Hungarian translation of _The Magician's_ _Nephew_ by C.S. Lewis, I devoured the entire _Narnia_ series and so many more."

"That explains the preponderance of sci-fi and fantasy novels in your flat," he said dryly.

Varinia nodded. "I've read the same books in every language I know, and in each language, they're slightly different. Some of the translations are good, like _Narnia_ and _The Lord of the Rings._ But other ones, like _Harry Potter_ , suck in most of the languages, including Hungarian."

"Is that why you started translating books?"

"It sounds terribly conceited," she said, smiling sheepishly, "but yes. I thought I could do better."

Lucas chuckled. "I've no doubt that you did." He glanced at the clock and grimaced. "One day, we will go to sleep when it is actually night, not morning."

Varinia glimpsed the time and groaned.

"Unless we die of sleep-deprivation first."

"We've had longer nights in Ankara," he reminded her.

"Yeah, but they accumulate." She yawned, her eyes watering, and snuggled into his chest. "Would you consider retiring from MI5 early so that we can stay in bed in the mornings? If you need incentive, I hear morning sex is fun."

He laughed, the sound rumbling beneath Varinia's ear on his chest.

"You're incentive enough. No need to tempt me with morning sex, though I would certainly not turn it down." He kissed the top of her head and held her a little bit tighter. "Good night, my linguist."

"You mean 'good morning,'" she mumbled tiredly. Her eyes were already closed, and her breathing was growing slower and steadier by the second.

His lips twitched. "Yes, that's what I meant," he humoured her.

Varinia's reply was unintelligible as she dropped to sleep soon after, but Lucas remained awake for another hour, his thoughts consumed by the present and the future. What did they hold for him? And, more importantly, what did they hold for him and Varinia?


	28. The Postcard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varinia receives a postcard.

Varinia stood by the open window, a lit cigarette held loosely between her fingers. It was cold and dark and late, and the red silk robe she wore did nothing to keep the chill at bay. A frigid breeze blew, wafting in tiny droplets of snow that melted when they encountered Varinia's much warmer body.

With a click, the front door unlocked and opened, admitting Lucas. He was exhausted. It had been a long day of tediously researching a new Islamic terror cell that could prove to be a threat to London. Shucking off his coat and shoes, he sighed, then looked up.

"Varinia?"

She ignored him and took a drag of her cigarette instead. As Lucas approached her, he saw the smoke furl upwards in blue-gray spirals. They'd been living together for five months now, so he was relatively well-versed in her idiosyncrasies. But he had never seen her smoke before.

Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. They were tense.

"A new hobby of yours?" Lucas inquired.

"You mean the smoking or the turning myself into an icicle?"

"The smoking," he said, his lips twitching in amusement.

She shrugged. "I used to smoke when I was younger. Picked it up from this guy I dated." Another drag, another shrug. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"Sure," he agreed. After all, Lucas still sometimes slept on the floor when his flashbacks of Lushanka were especially vivid. And that made him pause. If his habit was stress-related, then Varinia's could be, too. "Something's wrong."

"Yes," she replied. "Look on the kitchen table."

He hesitated, then walked into the kitchen. On the table, lay a postcard covered in pictures of Budapest. He picked it up and turned it over, not sure what he was expecting to find. But what he saw was such a shock that he was forced to sit down before his legs gave out beneath him.

There, staring back at him in incontrovertible print, was Chimaera.

"Fuck."

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," said Varinia. She sat on his lap, visibly still shaken by the postcard. "And then I vomited."

Lucas rested his forehead against her back and wrapped his arms around her.

"It's addressed to your flat," he said. "What were you doing there?"

"Getting some of my old photo albums. I missed Mum and Dad."

He kissed the silky fabric of her dressing gown and held her more tightly.

"This is serious, Varinia. Why didn't you call me?" he demanded. "Tariq could have traced the postcard to its sender."

"Because I didn't want to deal with it," she snapped. "I thought we were finished with The Cleansers when we neutralised Xióng and Co. I'm just _tired_ of fearing for my life. What the fuck kind of world is it where I can't even get pictures of my dead parents without being accosted by crazies who hide their threats in a made-up language?"

Varinia was seething; Lucas could feel the anger radiating off her like a heat wave. He had seen her cry and heard her curse, but he'd never witnessed such sheer fury from her.

"I know, darling," he said, in an attempt to placate her enough to glean some information. Lucas took her hands and ran his thumbs over the half-moon-shaped fingernail indents in her palms. "Did you get the photo albums?"

"They're on the coffee table," she said quietly. Though she still perched rigidly on his lap, Varinia was beginning to calm down. His touched tended to have that effect on her.

He kissed behind her ear and whispered, "Shall we look at them?"

"I thought the postcard was important."

"It is," he affirmed, "and we'll talk about it in a bit. It's sat here all day, so it will keep for another half hour." He patted the sides of her thighs, urging her to stand. Following her into the living room, he sat horizontally on the sofa and pulled her down beside him. He grinned. "Besides, now you've got me itching to see you as a little girl."

"I had blue eyes," she informed him, a half-smile forming on her lips as she opened the first album. Varinia pointed to a picture of a ginger baby standing up inside her crib, a handful of front teeth peeking out through her open-mouthed smile. "See?"

"You were absolutely adorable," he said, with a grin to match baby-Varinia's. "You still are."

Lucas could only see one side of her face, but he nevertheless glimpsed the blush staining her cheeks. He felt a surge of affection for her.

"There's this square in Budapest near where I grew up," she explained, deliberately ignoring his compliment. "It has a fountain with a bunch of lions flanking it that attracts pigeons. I used to chase them as a kid."

And, sure enough, there was a picture of a five-year-old Varinia, bundled up in a fluffy, white coat, running after the pigeons.

"And I used to climb trees on Margit sziget, which is a big island in the middle of the Danube," she said. There was a picture of an eight-year-old Varinia standing on a thick branch, surrounded by leaves that were almost the exact shade of green as her eyes.

As they flipped through the pages, it was evident that she'd had a happy childhood, for she was always smiling or laughing or fixing the camera with a mock-glare.

He spied a picture of a preteen Varinia, posing on an old, crumbling, stone staircase.

"Where was this taken?"

"Oh, that," she said, with a laugh. "That's Poenari Castle, where Vlad the Impaler lived. We were living in Bucharest at the time, so I became a bit obsessed with Vlad III and made my parents take me to Bran and Poenari."

"It looks like it's in ruins."

"It was," she replied. "Bran wasn't, but Bran probably was not one of Vlad's castles. However, the stories of it being haunted were too intriguing for my ten-year-old self to pass up."

He chuckled. "And did you meet any ghosts while there?"

"No," replied Varinia, sounding disappointed even nineteen years later, "much to my parents' amusement. On the train ride over, they'd tried to convince me that ghosts weren't real, but I steadfastly ignored them. Even on our way back to Bucharest, I came up with excuses as to why we didn't see any."

"What were they?"

She paused, thinking. "Well, I accused my parents of scaring them away, because everyone knew that ghosts never revealed themselves to unbelievers."

"So why didn't _you_ see them, then?"

"Obviously because my parents were with me," she said.

"Mmm, of course."

She craned her neck to look back at him. "I see that smile you're barely managing to restrain. You're an unbeliever, too."

"Of ghosts, maybe," he agreed. "But of you, never." Cupping her cheek, he bent and kissed her. She tasted like Earl Grey, with a hint of mint-tinged tobacco. "You smoke _menthols_?"

"Sod off, they were the only ciggies in my flat," she grumbled. Shutting the photo album, Varinia placed it on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on his lap, so that she was facing him. "I'm ready to talk about the postcard now."

"All right," he said cautiously. "What does the writing say?"

"It's a warning that there are still Cleansers members running free." She averted her gaze to his stomach and began fiddling with the bottommost button on his shirt. "It also blamed me for Xióng's capture. To quote the author, 'retribution is coming.'"

"Retribution is coming," he repeated, scanning her features for signs of distress.

"The Cleansers always did have a flair for the dramatic," she remarked.

Varinia was attempting to inject some humour into a dire situation--a habit of hers that Lucas knew indicated fear. He allowed her to continue playing with his buttons, as he rubbed his hands over her silk-covered thighs.

"Did the postcard say anything else?" She shook her head, still focused on his shirt. "Okay, I'll call Harry and meet Tariq at the Grid." He shifted, bringing Varinia with him, and she finally looked up at him.

"Can it wait until morning, please? I tried to go to sleep earlier, but for some reason, I dreamt of Anton and Marlina."

Lucas was torn. On the one hand, the postcard was a threat, and, as an MI5 agent, dealing with threats was his job. On the other hand, Varinia clearly wanted him here, and he'd had enough experience with traumatic events to understand why. She had thus far coped extraordinarily well with her abduction, but the postcard must have triggered something.

He nodded. "It can wait."

"Thank you," she whispered and kissed him. Standing, Varinia took his hand and led him into their bedroom. "How was work?"

"Tedious," he replied, as he stripped down to his boxer briefs. He slid into bed beside her and waited while she found a comfortable position. Once her head was safely pillowed upon his chest, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I spent the day doing research. I felt like I was back at uni."

"So you're more of a hands-on agent, are you?" she teased.

Lucas grinned. "Very much so." To prove his point, he slipped a hand under her robe and splayed his fingers over her hip. As usual, she was wearing nothing but knickers. One of the first things he'd learned when Varinia moved in with him was that she hardly ever slept in sleepwear. "I'm surprised you're still wearing the robe."

"Oh, yeah," she said and untied the knot.

Lucas watched with fond amusement as she tried to take it off without leaving the warmth of his body. It required a bit of effort, but soon she was lying halfway atop him, skin against skin. It was these moments, when the world was quiet, that he cherished the most.

"It's snowing."

Varinia craned her neck to glance out the window.

"Good, because that slushy rain was starting to irritate me." She lay her head on his chest again and smiled. "But it won't last long. It never does."

"No," he agreed. "We get a few polite flakes here and there, unlike in Cumbria. _There_ the snow is a like a rude guest that's overstayed its welcome."

She laughed. "We had some pretty serious snow days in Hungary, too."

"Do you miss it?" he asked. "Home."

She looked up at him, a sweet smile on her face.

"No, because I'm home right now." Lucas hunched forward to kiss her. "But really, I've always been good at feeling at home where ever I lived. I think it helps that I either already speak the native language, or am able to learn it quickly."

"Is there a city you didn't feel at home in?"

"Bucharest," she answered, without hesitation. "We were there when Ceaușescu was selling off his country's crops and natural resources to repay Romania's debts, so the atmosphere was...hostile, to say the least." She paused, frowning. "And sad. People starved. Utility companies cut back, so without proper heating, winter was especially cold. There was only one channel on the telly, which would broadcast official shit for two hours every day, and then turn off."

"But as a diplomat, your father must've had special privileges," Lucas pointed out.

"He did," she said, nodding. "Our flat was well-heated in the winter, and we always had enough food. We shared it with the tenants who struggled to make ends meet." She smiled wryly. "But we still only had one channel." Then she sobered. "Despite all the hardships, the residents of Bucharest were the lucky ones. Outside the city, Ceaușescu built apartment buildings without toilets, so it was back to the Middle Ages for the poor people forced to live there."

Lucas was solemn as he said, "This is ultimately why I do what I do. To prevent horrors like that from happening again."

"Mmm," she murmured, "but you can't control what happens in other countries."

"No, but I can help to protect my own country."

Varinia traced the star tattoo on his shoulder, studying it with creased brows.

"I should be in my own country," she said softly. "I feel like I've betrayed Hungary by working for Five and Six."

Lucas was silent, for he could not relate to her situation. He had considered leaving England a few times, but that was during his marriage to Elizabeta.

"You could go back."

"I could," she agreed and said no more on the matter.

They exchanged lighthearted banter for a while longer, until they were both yawning in tandem. Lucas drifted to sleep with an unsettled feeling, a rarity when he was with Varinia. If she did indeed return to Budapest, would he go with her?


	29. Noble Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia deal with the ramifications of the postcard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am well aware that it's been ages since I last updated this story, but, as you can see, I have not abandoned it. I got horribly stuck (and still am to a certain extent). This chapter is short, but it took forever to write. After much thought, however, I _think_ I know where I want the next few chapters to go. Since it's been so long since the last update, here's a little recap:
> 
>   _"I should be in my own country," she said softly. "I feel like I've betrayed Hungary by working for Five and Six."_
> 
>   _Lucas was silent, for he could not relate to her situation. He had considered leaving England a few times, but that was during his marriage to Elizabeta._
> 
>   _"You could go back."_
> 
>   _"I could," she agreed and said no more on the matter._
> 
>   _They exchanged lighthearted banter for a while longer, until they were both yawning in tandem. Lucas drifted to sleep with an unsettled feeling, a rarity when he was with Varinia. If she did indeed return to Budapest, would he go with her?_

The next day, forensics analyzed the postcard for any clues to its sender. The ink was matched to a Victoria Blue dye from a ballpoint pen, but it was such a common ink type in ballpoint pens that further identification was not possible. However, the origin of the postcard was confirmed to be Hungary.

"That seems a bit...personal, doesn't it?" remarked Dimitri, glancing at Varinia.

The linguist was in Harry's office, on the phone with the Hungarian secret service. To Lucas' relief, she did not hear the agent's comment. Until they could be certain of the sender's motives, Lucas preferred to shield Varinia from unnecessary worry.

"It looks that way," he replied, with a sigh. "For her sake, I hope whoever sent it doesn't have access to the bacteria."

"I don't think he has," said Beth. "According to Xióng's files, only the high-level operatives had access to it, so this one can't be very high-level if he's still on the loose."

Harry and Varinia joined them. Her stoic expression indicated to Lucas that it was masking fear.

"That's true," agreed Harry, "unless there's a puppet master behind the scenes directing the agents. We just spoke with AH, who have been picking up suspicious activity in Budapest. Calls made to and from untraceable numbers have spiked in the past week."

"Could they be military?" Dimitri asked.

Lucas shook his head. "If the Hungarian secret service is anything like ours, they would have accounted for all inbound and outbound military calls."

"They have," affirmed Harry. He looked at the linguist, who was uncharacteristically silent. "The numbers are unregistered, and the signals are being deliberately bounced, but the AH have managed to trace one of the longer calls to an area in the 9th District. Their agents are currently investigating it."

"What sort of area is it? Residential, commercial, industrial?" Lucas asked.

"All three," Varinia replied. "It's a big area."

"Lucas, since we have personal experience with The Cleansers, I'd like you to work with the AH on this."

Before Lucas could even nod in agreement, Varinia interjected, "I'm going, too."

"No. The postcard was addressed to you," Lucas reminded her. "You'd be walking straight into a trap."

"It's my country, Lucas," she retorted angrily. "You risk yourself to protect your country, so why can't I risk myself to protect mine?"

Lucas regarded her with a patient gaze. "Because you're not a trained agent, that's why."

"Look, if I could be the bait, the trained agents could catch the bad guys," she reasoned. "It's what you lot do, isn't it?"

Lucas turned to his superior for support, but Harry looked thoughtful.

"You're not seriously considering this, are you, Harry?"

"I don't like it," said Harry, "but Varinia is right. This may be the quickest way of drawing them out of their foxhole."

"That's exactly what concerns me," Lucas said wearily. "Varinia was abducted once before. We got lucky that time, but there's no guarantee we will again."

"Then I won't get abducted," snapped Varinia. "I'm _right here_ , Lucas. Stop talking about me like I'm not."

"It's her choice, Lucas," Harry pointed out.

Lucas sighed, relenting reluctantly. "Fine, but I want a full security detail watching her at all times."

Varinia glared at him but bit her tongue to silence her retort. It would not do to have a squabble in front of Section D.

"Of course," nodded Harry. "There's a BA flight at 14:20, and the Hungarians will meet you at the airport in Budapest."

Tariq gave them their coms, while Beth handed them the files from the Hungarian secret service.

"Have a safe trip," she said, smiling reassuringly at Varinia.

The linguist returned the smile, though hers was much less confident. Perhaps Lucas was right and she was behaving recklessly, but she owed it to her country and her fellow Hungarians to help prevent a terrorist act.

Grasping onto that noble thought, Varinia followed Lucas to the car.

 

 


	30. Budapest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas and Varinia arrive in Budapest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been an _atrociously_ long time since my last update. I know this. I apologize for this. Truth is, I know where I want this story to go, but I don't quite know how to get it there. Yet. Hence the short, plotless chapter(s). So while this chapter is indeed a stalling method, it also introduces the setting for the next few chapters and provides a glimpse into Varinia at home, with Lucas by her side. 
> 
> Here's a recap of the previous chapter:
> 
> _"Of course," nodded Harry. "There's a BA flight at 14:20, and the Hungarians will meet you at the airport in Budapest."_
> 
> _Tariq gave them their coms, while Beth handed them the files from the Hungarian secret service._
> 
> _"Have a safe trip," she said, smiling reassuringly at Varinia._
> 
> _The linguist returned the smile, though hers was much less confident. Perhaps Lucas was right and she was behaving recklessly, but she owed it to her country and her fellow Hungarians to help prevent a terrorist act._
> 
> _Grasping onto that noble thought, Varinia followed Lucas to the car._

**Chapter 30: Budapest**

Wintertime in Budapest was something Varinia had not missed. It was cold and dry and dreary. She had forgotten how slippery the slush-slicked sidewalks could be, and she was seriously reconsidering her choice of footwear. Her heeled boots kept her feet warm enough, but their lack of traction meant she had to traverse the streets with care.

"It's not how I imagined it," remarked Lucas, as they walked to the nearest grocery store.

They had arrived two hours ago and had been whisked away by the AH to a safe house in the 6th District, near the Eötvös Loránd University's law school. Having grown up in the adjacent 5th District, Varinia knew the 6th District like the back of her hand. She took a deep breath of cold air and smiled. It smelled like home.

"Budapest, you mean?" she asked. He nodded and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "How did you imagine it?"

Lucas glanced at the church on the corner beside the university.

"Well, you'd gone on and on about how dark and dreary London is, so I expected Budapest to be perpetually sunny." He was smirking as he watched Varinia out of the corner of his eye.

"Ha ha," she quipped. "It _would_ be sunny if we had come in the spring or summer, or even in the fall. London, on the other hand, is still overcast in the summer, so my point remains valid."

"Point? More like complaints."

His amusement increased when Varinia huffed indignantly.

"You know, I could have done the shopping on my own," she said. Lucas opened his mouth to disagree, but she cut him off with a glare. "And I would've been perfectly safe, since I have plenty of watchdogs on my arse." She spared her surroundings a quick, surreptitious glance, but there was no way she could know which of their fellow pedestrians were the AH agents.

Lucas sighed. "I know you don't like the arrangement. I don't like it either," he confessed, "but I lost you once and refuse to lose you again."

Varinia's irritation lessened in the face of his concern for her. Though she was embarrassed to admit it, her abduction had frightened her and had plagued her with nightmares. She wished she was as fearless and self-assured as Lucas and the other field agents were, but she was actually a little relieved to have the surveillance.

"You won't lose me," she said softly, leaning into his side. One of his hands left the warmth of his pocket to hold and squeeze hers. "Do you think _they_ know we're here?"

"Maybe, but probably not yet." They turned down a smaller side street, passing several cafés that were filled with people escaping the cold and snow. "There was a food shop back there," he remarked.

Varinia looked up at Lucas with a sweet smile on her face. "There were two," she affirmed, "but I'm in the city I love with the man I love. Indulge me."

Lucas met her gaze, his heart swelling at her words. He wished that Varinia's return to Budapest could have been under different circumstances, ones that did not involve the remnants of a terrorist organisation bent on vengeance against her. So, bringing her hand to his lips, he indulged her as much as the mission allowed.

"One more street, then we buy food and go back to the flat."

"Deal," she agreed, leading him towards the Danube River. "There's this really great Greek restaurant somewhere around here. Taverna Dionysos, I think it's called. Amazing lamb."

He grinned and listened as she continued to list off her favorite restaurants, making mental notes of the ones he would take her to when things were safe again. After an extended detour, they finally reached the food shop. Varinia quickly filled their basket with the essentials--milk, bread, cold cuts, veggies, and coffee--, but she also chose several novelties, such as mini coconut pastries and pickled watermelon.

Lucas arched a brow at the last product. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't watermelons supposed to be larger?"

"Not if they're baby watermelons," she said, standing in line. There were a few people ahead of them, whom Lucas instinctively scanned. "They pick the melons before they ripen and pickle them. I know, it's odd, but it's no odder than the pickled eggs that drunk Brits go crazy for."

"Not _all_ drunk Brits," he interjected.

She rolled her eyes. "Just like not _all_ Hungarians like pickled watermelon. But I do. It's a comfort food I grew up with and haven't been able to find anywhere else."

"Pickled eggs are gross, you know."

"They probably are," she agreed, "but pickled watermelon isn't."

"Okay," he said, indulging her.

Varinia flashed him a triumphant smile, and Lucas shook his head, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. He watched her while she paid for the groceries, listened as she exchanged a few words with the cashier, and his heart twinged at how _natural_ it all seemed to her. It further solidified the fact that, although London was her current home, Budapest had come first.

As he followed her out of the store, Lucas understood that Budapest would likely always come first.

**Author's Note:**

> Although _Soul Healing_ is complete, it's still in the process of being edited and uploaded, so I probably shouldn't have begun a new story. But I was itching to write a modern fic, and since Lucas is my favorite of Richard Armitage's characters, I couldn't resist. 
> 
> _Chimaera_ takes place directly after season 8 and completely bypasses season 9. Ergo, there is no John Bateman, because, as we all know, that story arc was ridiculous and unfounded, even if Richard played it heartrendingly beautifully. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I only own Varinia (for now). 
> 
> Character Info: 
> 
> 1\. **Varinia Erdélyi** : Varinia means "versatile" in Ancient Roman and Spanish. Erdélyi is a Hungarian surname meaning "of Transylvania" or "related to Transylvania." 
> 
> Varinia is 5'2'' (157 cm).


End file.
